


Counting Coins

by FalliciousPuns



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, BAMF!Charles, Charles is a Professor, Cherik - Freeform, Cold War, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/F, F/M, Gay and Mutant in the 1960s, Gen, Historical References, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Soviet Union, the amount of research i put in is unhealthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 76,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalliciousPuns/pseuds/FalliciousPuns
Summary: Charles and Erik were the closest of friends as children.  Then, their friendship crumbled as Charles' widowed mother remarried and left their estate in rural England.  When Charles finally returned home from his new family's honeymoon, Erik was nowhere to be found.  Time changes everyone, and years later, Erik has risen to power in America, much to Charles' employers' displeasure.





	1. Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This fic is the product of about half a summer and I spent more time than is healthy working on it O_O but all is good because now I can share it with you! I was ‘challenged’ by holy-cherik on Tumblr to write a fic according to this prompt: 
> 
>  
> 
> “Charles and Erik were friends when they were kids but when Charles’ father dies, Charles’ mother re-marries and the family moves away the two best friends lose touch. Years later Charles is working for a team of assassins because of Kurt Marko’s mistakes. His latest target is Erik Lehnsherr. For that he has to infiltrate and befriend Erik, extract as much information from him as he can and then kill him. But meeting Erik again after all those years changes things and makes it more difficult for Charles to actually do what he’s supposed to. Especially since the two fall in love.”
> 
>  
> 
> I've deviated quite a bit from the prompt (ok, more than a bit. A heck-ton), but the general sentiment/idea is still there. Feel free to ask away about the fic on tumblr. I'm thatdysfunctionalkingdom :)

_Charles remembered what his childhood had been like.  If he had been asked to sum up his memories from ‘back then’, he would have said it was sunset-washed gardens and laughter and counting coins._

 

The light was gold.  Charles looked over at the glowing sun as he ran through the grass.  Sunlight passed through the green blades, so they looked like candles seen through emerald wine bottles.  

He stumbled.  That was how it was back then.  He was small, barely old enough to run.  He fell often, but then again, that was what grass was for.  

Charles’ small feet faltered and he took a tumble.  His fingers tightened into a fist to protect what he was carrying as he scrambled back to his feet and continued running.

“Erik!” he cried out, waving his arm above his head as he approached.  “Erik, mummy gave me more!”

The other boy turned, slightly surprised.  He had bright eyes, and, _oh the sun_ , the sun shone through Erik’s mop of boyish hair, brushing it a luminous gold.  “Really?” he asked.  Charles would have thought it impossible for Erik’s face to light up even more, but it did.

Charles knelt down by his friend and opened his palm.  Four small coins glinted dully in his palm.

“Whoa,” Erik said, plucking one from Charles’ open hand.  He lay it on the ground next to dozens of other ones.  “You got a lot this time.”

Charles puffed up proudly.  “My mum only gave me one this time.”  He looked down at Erik’s pile of coins.  “Did you find _all_ of those already?”

Erik nodded.  “I’m too tired to find more though…”  

Charles and Erik scooped the coins into a canvas bag, then toted them back to Mrs. Lensherr’s house to put in a jar.  They counted each coin as they dropped it in with a muffled _tink,_ then they wrote out how much they’d collected onto a scrap of paper.  When the jar was full, Charles and Erik would add up all the numbers and write it on the top of the jar.

They loved counting and collecting their coins.

 

It had started as a game, really.  Erik had a knack for finding shiny metallic objects, like bottle caps and coins, and Charles had suggested that they collect the coins.

“One day, we’ll have enough money to get as much ice cream as we want,” Charles had said one hot afternoon.

“We’ll buy a bike,” Erik added.

“A car!  One of those fancy ones!”

“A house!”

“A plane!”

“We’ll be so rich-”

“They’d make us the president of the United States of America!”

They laughed.  Whether from the ridiculousness of it, or the fact that they thought they really could, it is hard to say.

 

_It really was a golden time._

_In hindsight, it was too good to be true.  The weather, that is.  Charles was sure that his childhood couldn’t have been so beautifully lit.  He had lived in England after all.  Maybe it was just that the company he’d had had chased away all the rainy days._

 

_But the rainy days did come.  One day, the sun shone a little bit bluer, and the clouds that drifted by were a little bit darker, and the sky wasn’t the only one crying because everyone was wearing black and Charles’ daddy was… not there anymore._

 

_There were other men.  After his father died, there were many new people who came to their house often, but they never stayed for long, only ever a couple of weeks at most.  But then one of them stayed.  He was a businessman, from who-knows-where, Charles’ mother told him.  His mother told him to call the new man ‘daddy’ too, but Charles didn’t like it._

_While he was a nice man and made his mother laugh, the world didn’t seem as alive.  To Charles, the world was becoming more grey._

_Then the day when the man asked his mother to come away with him to Italy and France and Greece and his mother had said yes._

_Charles had watched as the mansion staff packed his bags, and he had quietly slipped out of the back door.  He snuck up to his mother’s room (no one had packed up there yet) and pulled open a drawer to the dresser next to her neatly made-up bed._

 

Charles was running again.  Only this time, the sky was thick and grey and the grass didn’t shine like it used to.  

Erik’s house was a small cottage nestled between clusters of trees, barely visible from the road.  Charles walked up to the old wooden door and knocked.  

Erik was the one who opened it.

“I think I’m leaving,” said Charles.

Erik’s face, already downcast, fell even further.  “My mum told me that you won’t be back for a long time.  I didn’t believe her.”

Charles nodded.  “A year.  Mummy said a year, and then they’d get married…”

“It…” Erik took a shaky breath, “It’s not fair!” he wailed.  Tears pooled in his eyes even as he tried to wipe them away.  “We were going to...to have a bike!  And a house,” he sniffled.

Charles’ lip trembled and he held out his hand.  “I found this in my mum’s room.  We don’t need it, but I hope this will be enough for a bike and then,” he pushed the money he’d found into Erik’s hands started sobbing, “when I get back,” he choked, words becoming harder to understand, “we can buy a house together, and- and-”

They were both fully in tears by now.  Erik and Charles pulled each other into what could only be described as a hug, but in reality they were clutching each other like they would fall from a great height.  

“I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

  


_Charles went to France and Italy and Greece and many other places besides, but when he returned home a year or so later, there was someone else living in the little cottage by the road.  It was a young couple.  No, the Lensherrs didn’t live around here anymore, they said. Couldn’t pay their bills, had to move out, went back to Poland, they said._

  


_He supposed the many many ten shilling notes he’d given Erik hadn’t helped.  It burned to know that he hadn’t helped._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is the shortest chapter so don't worry, there will be a heck of a lot more to come :) think of this as a sort of Prologue.


	2. The Dangers in Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! I'm back with a new chapter! Hope you enjoy it. There's a little time skip so here're the beans:  
> It's 1961, and the Cold War is getting rather heated (pun hella intended, I'm not sorry). Political views, ideals and propaganda within.

1961

 

Charles Xavier stepped out of the high-end hotel and into the cool autumn evening.  It was nearly sunset, and as he stepped into the cab waiting for him, Charles silently thanked the heavens that it hadn’t been a hotter day.  

He was wearing a dark suit on top of a crisp white shirt with a royal purple tie.  With him he carried a small briefcase, but it would hardly be necessary for what he had planned.  

Although it would be easier than breathing to direct his driver telepathically, Charles knew that it would be much simpler to play the part of a regular human as to not leave a trail.

“Right here, please,” he said.  The cab driver pulled over in front of a high end restaurant.  Charles got out, not bothering to tip the cabbie before walking up the red carpeted steps.  

A hostess came up to him.  “A table for one?” she asked.

He shook his head.  “I’ve a reservation for two, under the name Xavier.”

She nodded looking down at her notepad.  “Mr. Constantine is already here,” she said.  “Please follow me.”  Charles followed her.  The restaurant was relatively full, but also quiet, yet not uncomfortably so.  The small murmurs and occasional laughter created a pleasant mood, while whole place was lavishly decorated with paintings and crimson drapes.  Charles trailed the hostess past a wall with several expensive paintings to a small table with a white tablecloth.  

He sat down in the available seat as the hostess left.  

Gerard Constantine was a handsome man of about thirty with dusky skin and dark hair to match his dark eyes.  He had a lean face and a short beard.  In contrast to Charles’ dark attire, Constantine wore a cream white suit with a light blue shirt and a buttercup yellow ascott.  To Charles, the other man looked like a pastel painter’s biggest mistake.

“Mr. Xavier,” he began.  He had a faint Spanish accent.  “What a pleasure it-”

Charles rolled his eyes and took control of the other man’s mind with a brief sigh.  He allowed himself to smile.  The feeling of seeping his will into another person’s mind was similar to slowly pouring water on one’s head and feeling the coolness trickle through the hair, only better.

_ Keep talking, _ Charles ordered lazily.

Constantine’s eye twitched.  He must have been trained to resist telepathic orders.   _ How interesting _ , Charles thought privately,  _ yet pointless _ .  

Charles transmitted a small glimmer of relaxation to Constantine’s mind, whose shoulders slackened as his mental barriers fell.  Even as Charles asserted complete control, some small part of the other man’s will desperately attempted to pull a barrier back up.

“Don’t insult me,” Charles said.  “You were saying?”

“-is to meet you at last,” Constantine continued as if nothing had happened.  

As the Spaniard rambled on, Charles sifted through the man’s mind.   _ Tell me, he thought, about what the Americans are planning in Spain over the next two years.   _ The Soviets that had hired him needed to know what the Americans’ battle plans were.  It had needed to be handled discreetly as to not alert the US that the USSR had the upper hand.  

From what he could understand from Constantine’s memories, America’s involvement in Spain was simply a counter for any move the Soviets would make in the mediterranean.  Charles fought against the urge to jolt Constantine with pain.  He knew this.  The Soviets knew this.  They’d known it for years. 

_ Where will I find detailed plans? _

Constantine’s mind offered several safe houses and bases where American strategists were hiding out.  He also gave up a list of names of Spanish officials that might know more.

Charles opened his briefcase.  Apparently he  _ was _ going to need to use it.  He pulled out a pen and paper and jotted down the names and locations, before placing both back into the case.

A waiter came around.  “Would you like anything to drink sirs?  Wine?” he asked.

Charles directed the other man to answer first.  “I’ll have a rosé,” he said.

Charles turned to the waiter.  “I’ll just have plain tap water.”

The waiter nodded and whisked away Charles’ wineglass before hurrying away to get the rosé.

Charles glanced at the menu.  “Do you have any recommendations?” he asked Constantine with a small chuckle.  This was going to be a good meal, especially since he had no intention of paying.

Time passed, and Charles decided that he’d wasted enough time over lunch already.

They both took a cab to the hotel where Constantine was staying, a tall white building with large windows, most of which were open to let the cool breeze brush through.  On the way back, Charles buried the other man’s memories and replaced them with careful conversation and the impression that Charles Xavier was a polite and pleasant young man.  They had talked about science, mostly genetics and the mutant gene.  Charles planted the idea that he could be useful in recruiting mutants or harnessing their powers (which he was).  If he ever needed to infiltrate this particular branch of government again, he had a way in.

They dropped Constantine at the hotel, and Charles reluctantly released the man’s mind, then he asked the cab to take him home.

Over the next few weeks he worked quickly and quietly, reading surface thoughts and performing the occasional abduction (although he returned them later with false memories).  He made weekly reports by radio, and at the end of the month he pulled out of Spain, leaving behind nothing but payment for the hotel room.

 

\---

Charles sighed as they circled the Russian landing strip.  He had felt the presence of one of the many middle-men his mysterious employer used.

He walked to the front of the decommissioned DC-3 bomber.  “Don’t bother landing,” he said flatly.  “Keep circling until I say otherwise,” he said to the cockpit's occupants.  He didn’t want to land if his employer was going to send him away immediately afterwards.

Charles felt a flicker of irritation from the pilot, but he did as he was told.

_ What do you want? _ He asked his employer’s proxy.  He felt a jolt of surprise as the man on the ground hurried to shield his mind.  When would they learn that it was pointless? he thought to himself.

_ New orders, _ the middleman communicated.   _ You may land.  Our employer has decided you shall see him to discuss your next assignment. _

Charles turned back to the pilot.  “Land,” he ordered, as he pulled his thick coat closer around himself.  He then adjusted his scarf and pulled down the ear flaps of his ushanka to keep warm.  

About half an hour later, Charles found himself in a sleek black vehicle speeding towards Moscow.  It was no less cold in the car than it had been while getting off the plane.  The man opposite did not speak, he was mentally fortifying himself against Charles’ telepathy.  Charles didn’t even bother seeing what thoughts he was trying to conceal.  He’d broken into the proxy’s thoughts enough times to know that he knew nothing worth knowing.

Charles was curious though.  His employers were careful people.  As much as he scoured the minds of the various middlemen he’d encountered, he couldn’t figure out who they were.  The middlemen didn’t actually know who they were working for.  They just received letters with instructions and the money.  Evidently it was one of the higher-ups in the Soviet government, but that didn’t narrow it down by much at all.  No one else would be able to afford his… services.

Charles wasn’t technically a Soviet.  He wasn’t aligned with the Western Bloc either, but he found that he privately agreed with some of the Soviets’ ideals.  Equality.  Mutants and humans treated equally.  When he looked across the pond and at America at its struggling Civil Rights campaigns for African Americans and mutants, he couldn’t help but feel like capitalism only created opportunities based on skill and effort and competition.  But who could hope to equal a mutant?  

Plus, the Americans and the British were impossible to work with.  They thought they were the best, at least, until he subjected them to his will.  Then they thought whatever Charles wanted them to think.

They arrived at the outskirts of Moscow soon after, and rather than going to a fancy hotel in the inner city, the driver turned down a dark alley and stopped.  They got out and stepped into the frigid night air.  The middleman walked around to the driver’s side.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said, pulling out a gun.  He shot the driver in the head.  

It made a loud noise, but Charles doubted that anyone would notice.  They were in that kind of neighborhood.  Nobody would even care, as long as no one was listening for it.

Charles’ breath was like mist in the air as he followed the middleman into the shadow of an overhanging roof.  He pushed open a door, and golden light spilled out onto the ground.

Charles followed the man inside.  They crossed a plain, unfurnished room and down a set of stairs.  They seemed to go down forever, then Charles saw a door at the bottom of the stairs.  

“Go on,” the man said.  “He’s waiting for you.  The door’s unlocked.”

Something blazed in the telepath’s eyes, and Charles gave the proxy the equivalent of a mental knee in the groin.  He collapsed on the stairs.   _ Next time, ask before you give away our position. _

Charles stepped carefully over the other’s body.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused.  He hadn’t felt any minds behind the door, but the man wheezing a few steps above him had told him that there was someone waiting.

Knowing what this must mean, he pushed open the door.

The brightness made him blink, which was a mistake.  Immediately, hands gripped his shoulders and he was spun around into a wall.  Dazed, Charles reached out an arm, which was immediately grabbed and twisted behind his back.  They pulled him back around and kicked the back of his legs forcing him to the ground with a grunt.  

Charles blinked several times to clear his head.  He felt someone beginning to bind his hands and feet.  He looked sideways at the people who had restrained him.  Damn.  Three of them.  They also wore psion-blocking helmets.  He couldn’t enter their minds with those damned things on.  

Without hesitation, Charles launched himself backwards, into the man behind him.  He twisted in midair so that he landed face to face on top of his captor.  His hands flew to the man’s helmet, but before he could prise it off, hands seized his ankles and started dragging him backward.  He cursed and flipped back over onto his back, twisting his ankles out of the other two attackers’ hands.  

He pulled himself into a squat and leapt up.  He rammed his heel into the woman on his left’s stomach then, as she tumbled backwards, he jerked his elbow behind him.  He heard a satisfying  _ whoopfh _ as he knocked the breath out of the man on his right.

With quick fingers, he gripped the winded man’s helmet and pulled it off.

His eyes widened and he began to scream, “He’s-!”

Then silence.

Charles began to laugh. 

The other two assailants had regrouped on the far side of the room, while the helmetless one stood stock still.  Then, the helmetless man threw himself at the woman, tackling her to the ground.  Charles darted forward and pulled off her helmet, then stood back and watched them wrestle the helmet off the third one, which took a bit longer.

Smiling, Charles examined the room.  It was plain, just like the one upstairs, but upon closer inspection there was a thick glass panel that made up an entire wall.  There were curtains behind it, the exact same color as the walls on either side, which was why Charles hadn’t noticed it before.

His face soured.  It made him angry that he was being watched.  Why did they feel the need to test him if they’d already hired him?  He sighed and tried to let off a little steam.  The three behind him fell to their knees clutching their heads in agony, gasping in pain.

“Well then?  Do you have an assignment for me or not?” he asked the curtain.

The curtains were pulled aside dramatically, as Charles knew they would be.  He approved.  The Soviets were in need of good flair.  They were, after all, competing with the Americans.

Through the glass, he saw a room of about the same size, but furnished for comfort.  There were several squishy armchairs around a small coffee table.  There was another small table behind them with an electric lamp casting warm light over the scene. Sitting in those cushy chairs, Charles recognized many high-ranking USSR government and military officials.  They were all wearing helmets.  

The gasps of pain became frantic screaming.

“Stop,” came a magnified voice.  There was a microphone sitting on the coffee table and there seemed to be a speaker in an air vent because the word seemed to come from everywhere.

Charles reluctantly lifted away the pain, although he still kept the attackers under his control.

He raised an eyebrow.

“We have a mission for you,” one of the military officials said.  He had a deep voice, trembling jowls and was adorned with so many medals that Charles wondered how he wasn’t crushed by their weight.  

Charles hoped there was a hidden microphone somewhere in the room as he asked, “How have I earned the privilege of meeting you in person, after all this time?” 

“Several of our members doubted you could handle the mission we are about to assign you and required a slight proof of your skillset.  Many of them believed you only to be extremely persuasive, and not...a mutant.”  A few of the officials looked uncomfortable.  “We were watching, just now,” the military man said.

Charles chuckled.  The thought of five of the most powerful men in the entire Soviet Union crowding around and on top of each other to peek through a gap in the curtains was too much to hide with a straight face.  “A better test would have been to reprogram a mind entirely,” he said, still smirking.  

Most of the officials glanced at one another.  The rest of them looked at him hungrily.

“This assignment calls for something of the sort,” began a different official, with a thick beard and an even thicker accent.  “Our allies in Cuba have heard of a potential mutant threat.  A strike team, if you will, to secure the assets we have promised to give them.”  He looked down at his lap, where Charles saw he was scanning notes.  “We believe that the strike team has not been recruited yet, and it seems likely the head of the MRO will be the one to let this happen or begin the recruitment process.  You will… convince him of certain things to make sure that this never happens.  If necessary you will infiltrate this strike team and ensure it fails long before it becomes a threat to us.”

Charles nodded.  “I accept.”

“This file contains further instructions and information,” the man with the mustache said, holding up a thick folder.  “In half an hour when you return to the car, you will find a copy of it under the passenger seat.  You will wait here until that time is up, then you will leave.”

“And these soldiers?”

The man shook his head.  “Assassins.  Rogues.  Assassins and rogues who know too much.”

With that, the lamp behind them went out and the curtains closed.    
Charles turned to face the three ‘assassins and rogues’ with a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was a sort of introduction to Charles and the ‘services’ he can offer. I had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter, if I'm completely honest. I've always been one for dark!characters and this was as close as I could get to dark!Charles (for now *cackles*).  
> Anyway, see you at the next update!
> 
> I definitely won't be updating this frequently (daily) but I wanted you all to get a better idea of the story since the first chapter doesn't give so much plot detail/insight into what the story is actually going to be like. Cheers!


	3. Touché

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up where we left off last time.

After spending twenty minutes cursing silently while bent over the back of the passenger’s seat and getting stuck in several awkward positions to find his files, Charles then spent another half hour getting rid of the driver’s body, finally dumping him in a river with a pang of regret.  He hadn't deserved to die, and Charles had been too slow to stop it.  Again.

His fingers itched to grab the case file and start reading, but Charles knew that nowhere was safe from prying eyes, especially in Moscow.  

He drove out of the city at a breakneck pace, until he was halfway back to the military landing strip where he’d arrived.  There was no one on the road.  It was midnight.  Charles doubted that anyone else would come down the highway for several hours at least.  He pulled over and reached into the back seat for his briefcase where he’d stowed the files.  He flipped open the metallic latches and pulled out the thick sheaf of paper and a small flashlight, which he held between his teeth as he arranged the files in front of him.  

Then, he began to read.

He had to reread the first sentence of the objectives page five times before he could believe his eyes.

_ Mutant Rights Organization leader Erik Lensherr will become a pawn of the USSR. _

_ Mutant Rights Organization leader Erik Lensherr will become a pawn of the USSR. _

_ Mutant Rights Organization leader.  _

_ Erik Lensherr will become a pawn of the USSR. _

_ Erik Lensherr. _

Fuck.

Charles exhaled slowly as he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.  A minute passed, then Charles slammed his hand against the steering wheel and kicked the frame of the car.  

 

“Fuck!”

 

He reached out with his mind in a radius that was greater than his constant one, desperate to vent his anger and frustration onto  _ someone _ .  

Unsurprisingly, there was no one within fifty miles.  

Realizing that there would be serious repercussions if he took his emotions out on passers-by, Charles stopped expanding his range.

Immediately he was bursting with questions, such as: ‘Had his employers known of Erik and Charles’ former relationship?’, ‘Where had Erik been for all these years?’, ‘Since when had Erik become the head of the Mutant Rights Organization?’, ’Did that mean that Erik was a mutant?’, ‘What the  _ hell _ was he going to do?’ And the most pressing question of all: What the fuck?

Charles dropped the flashlight and buried his head in his hands. 

On the one hand, Erik was the only person that Charles had ever considered as a friend and not a leech, out for his favor or his money or his influence.  He’d also been the first friend Charles had had before his powers had developed, so in a way it was the truest relationship because he hadn’t always known what to say.  It had never been an exploitative relationship.  

Charles bit his lip.  To manipulate Erik… would be to destroy his privacy, his trust, which was in hindsight what had made their friendship such a good one in the first place.  

The worst part was that Charles enjoyed influencing others.  That was the worst.

On the other hand, the Western Bloc couldn’t be allowed to gain an edge in the Cold War.  It could mean the Brits and the Americans would make outrageous demands backed by the threat of possible annihilation of the entire Soviet Union with a few well-placed nuclear warheads.  Millions dead.

Charles’ face hardened.  His friendship.  It had been so long ago.  Erik probably wouldn’t even remember him from back then, and even if he did, Charles felt that Erik would resent him for leaving him.  And it wasn’t like he had to assassinate him.

_ Not if I do it right, _ he thought, clenching his teeth.

He bent over in his seat, picking up the files that lay scattered in a mess by his feet.  He had a lot of research to do.

By the time Charles had returned to his childhood home in England, he had read all the files enough times that he could probably recite them from memory.  He knew every last detail of his instructions, which had thankfully left most of the big planning to him.

The files had contained a substantial amount of information on Erik Lensherr, but Charles felt like he needed to find out more.  This wasn’t some minor official he was brainwashing.  This was the leader of the MRO, who had close ties with the President of the United States.

At first, Charles had been shocked that he hadn’t heard of Erik’s rise to power at all, but then he reminded himself that he’d been knee deep in assignments in the far east for the past few years anyway, and any news he’d heard of the outside world was always the tightly controlled kind of dictators.  Communism, he thought, truly was a double-edged sword.

The files did a good job of catching him up.  From reading them, he learned that Erik had immigrated from Poland to America almost a decade ago.  He’d worked in mundane jobs for a few months, then he’d joined the newly formed MRO, an advocacy group for mutants’ rights, and sort of unofficial mutant liaison with the executive branch of the US government which they partially funded, under the table of course.  Erik had become the leader about five years ago after an attempted assassination had nearly killed the former head of the MRO, forcing him to retire.  

Publicly, Erik had never displayed any mutant powers, but KGB and CIA espionage and surveillance reports suggested that he might possess telekinesis, although the intel was plausible at best.  

This last piece of evidence made Charles smile.  He hoped Erik had a strong mental mutation, just like him.  Telekinesis was good, but Erik might even have telepathy as a secondary mutation.  That would definitely explain the lack of intel on his powers.

His employers had been thoughtful enough to include packets on other high-ranking MRO staff.  Raven Darkhölme.  Henry McCoy.  Alexander Summers.  Emma Frost.

Sitting at his desk that looked onto the family grounds where he had once run with the golden sun, Charles massaged his temples.  He was certain those four had mutations, but so far, he only had a grainy photo of Frost where her arm shone.  The agent that had written the report attributed it to the reflection of sunshine on her jewelry, but Charles knew that that was a stretch at best.  Most likely, there was a telepath among them, actively concealing everyone’s powers by manipulating witnesses’ memories.  Since Erik seemed to have shown telekinetic powers, it seemed more likely that he was also the telepath.  Those tended to come together since they were in the same category.

The lack of reliable information was annoying, but then he reminded himself that it would be similarly impossible to learn anything about him, even more so, since he was working alone.

After a few days stop in England where he had prepared as much as he could, Charles arranged a meeting with one of his old schoolmates from Cambridge that now worked as a professor at Harvard.  Then he booked a private flight to New York, intending to stay at the other family mansion while he sorted out the whole Cold War problem.  

Before going to bed, he drafted a letter to send to a contact in Prague who would then pass it on to someone in Moscow where he hoped it would find its way to one of his employers.  Charles had used a special code that the Soviets had included in his file to ensure that not even people within his network would know what he was talking about.  He left the finished letter on the dresser on the far corner of his room with a note to the staff to send it when he’d left tomorrow.

Early the next morning, Charles had his private butler drive him to the airport, where instead of boarding the general flight, he was escorted to a private one.  

He swung his briefcase onto the small table next to his seat and implanting the suggestion into the flight staff not to bother him during the flight.  Charles pulled out his files.  He’d read Erik’s to death, but he still had to get completely familiar with the rest of his ‘crew’.

Henry McCoy.  A well educated individual with degrees in biochemistry and genetics, just like Charles.  With a course list like that, Charles thought, he was sure to be a mutant.  But it was also a problem.  He bit his lip.  As a geneticist, Dr. McCoy would undoubtedly have heard of Charles Xavier.  He seemed to be at a disadvantage already.  McCoy could easily draw the same conclusion, that he was a mutant as well.  

Promising that he’d deal with McCoy before it was ‘too late’, Charles set the file down and picked up the next one.  

Raven Darkhölme.  At least here he had some evidence.  Some KGB files had referred to her as an assassin, similar to him.  She’d even been employed by the USSR once after the war, to exact revenge on several Nazi leaders.  According to the mission reports, she was a shapeshifter, which, in Charles’ opinion, was almost as useful to an assassin as telepathy.  She would be tough to deal with, especially since he didn’t know what she really looked like.  If he could make mental contact with her however, he could learn to recognize her mind and track her.

Alexander Summers.  He’d been locked up, apparently.  That suggested a violent, flashy mutation.  Other than that, he’d stuck to Erik and McCoy like a magnet.  He was always at either of their sides, and intel suggested that he had a deep connection with both of them.  Charles could definitely use that.

Finally, Emma Frost.  From that blurry photo, she had some sort of shapeshifting ability, but not into anything human or animal.  Metal maybe?  Either way, Charles assumed that shifting gave her extra powers.  Super-strength seemed likely, at the very least.  And if she could turn her entire body into a different substance… would his telepathy still work on something that wasn’t technically alive?  Would a metal brain make a difference?  Still, Charles was confident that he could get her before she shifted.  His mental touch was impossible to sense, and once he was in, he could use anyone as he pleased.  But, he thought, Frost was one to look out for.

Part of him felt guilty at planning to take down all Erik’s associates, who were no doubt all good friends, but Charles brushed the thought aside resolved to work for the greater good.

He passed the rest of the flight by creating more backup plans than he could ever need.  Charles wasn’t really the type to follow his plans by the letter.  More often than not, he would simply do what he thought was best, drawing his best ideas from the many backup plans he had and blending him together to form, what he considered to be, a work of art.

By the time the plane touched down in Newark Liberty International Airport, Charles felt fully prepared.  To his slight annoyance, his plan was very blunt and direct, although it needed to be handled carefully.  But, he consoled himself, if anything went wrong, he was prepared to dance and run rings around the MRO.

But he was looking forward to the first phase of the plan.  The step that involved him returning to the Xaviers’ real family home in Westchester.  Then, in about a week, he’d head down to Washington to surprise his old friend.

  
  
  
  


January 30, 1962

Erik glanced to his left at the President, then out to the rest of the House Chamber where senators and representatives sat exchanging whispers.  

Over the course of the election season a year ago, Erik had hoped that Kennedy would be the one to win the race and take action quickly and follow through with his predecessor, Eisenhower’s, plans.  He had not been disappointed.

The Soviets wouldn’t sit still for long, and tensions between the two of them didn’t seem like they could get any higher.  This seemed as good a time as any for an assassin to strike, but Erik hastily reminded himself that _any_ moment was a good time for assassin to strike.    

Technically, he wasn’t John F. Kennedy’s bodyguard, but he had been more than happy to attend his inaugural address and sit slightly behind him, after all the promises he’d made concerning civil rights during his campaign.  Although Raven had said that JFK wouldn’t be able to keep those promises, Erik had still believed in them.  Erik had responded that with tensions between the east and western blocs so high, Nixon would have found it impossible to keep  _ his  _ promise of peace.  

Erik cast his eyes around the crowded room.  He spotted Hank and Alex on opposite sides of the crowd, mingling with the senators.  He couldn’t spot Raven, but she was no doubt disguised.  Good.  Emma had also taken up position outside, in a house across the street where she could monitor the nearby area. 

Erik’s attention snapped back to what Kennedy was saying as he addressed the throng of people on the grass below.  “ Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of the Congress,” he began.

Erik usually found speeches boring.  They dodged issues and repeated often.  Most of the time, he would zone out, only realizing that the dull droning of a singular voice was over after a few seconds of hearty applause.  However, this time, he was paying attention.  Kennedy’s speech lay down what he’d done over the past year and his plans for the future, and since he had a lot to say, he’d summarized everything clearly and concisely.

“ And let every man and woman who works in any area of our national government, in any branch, at any level, be able to say with pride and with honor in future years: ‘I served the United States government in that hour of our nation's need.’ .”

Erik grinned.  Strictly speaking, the MRO wasn’t affiliated with the US government, but Eisenhower had worked with them on multiple occasions and Kennedy had followed suit.  

“‘- has given us.’ ,” Kennedy finished.

Applause exploded around them.

Erik was immediately on guard, and as he clapped, he glanced around the large room.  Now was the perfect time for an assassination, when everyone was moving, and the President was not the center of attention, as everyone was talking amongst themselves.  

Erik scanned the crowd, suddenly more alert than usual.  Something didn’t feel right. 

What--

Erik’s breath caught in his throat, his hands frozen mid-clap.  Barely an instant later, pain exploded behind his eyes, making his body quiver like a flame in the wind.   

Erik felt … _ something _ … invade his mind.  He panicked, imagining a high wall in his mind, like he’d been taught to do.  But it was simply too overpowering.  A wave of pure will washed over him, making him dizzy with agony.  Then, the ‘something’ seized control.

He made a slight signal with his hands, to tell Hank and Alex that all was under control.  An instant later, a tall, grey building with a neat garden covered with snow flashed before his eyes, and he felt an overpowering urge to go to it.   He took a step away from the President’s back.  

Erik knocked into someone.  The vice president.  He gave Erik a stern look.  The familiar face jolted him briefly back to his senses.  Erik didn’t have control over his mouth, but his thoughts, laden with agony, were briefly his own.

_ Tel-Telepathy.  Mutant, _ he thought, praying that Emma was listening.   _ Too strong, I can’t- _  His thoughts were suppressed once more, but not before Erik raised another mental shield.  His actions were still not his own, but he still retained a small measure of thought.  Not enough to broadcast, but enough to think.  

Erik’s face was hard as he made his way inside, down the stairs and through a door.  He was just about to pass into another room, when he slowed down, and the pain became bearable.  

_ Erik _ .  It was Emma.  

_ Emma.  Whoever it was, they w-wanted me to go to this place _ .  He thought of the building, its grey walls and perfect garden.   _ They may want to take control of Kennedy… _ His thoughts trailed off and he slumped against a wall.

_ Erik.  I’m holding them back, but once I transform- _

He dimly acknowledged her.  Erik knew what he had to do so that he didn’t become a potential threat.  He jerked a curtain off its rail and fumbled with it, falling to the floor next to a sofa and knotting his hands behind one of the legs.

_ Go _ , he thought weakly, when he was secure.

Emma left his thoughts, and Erik fell back into powerlessness as the unknown mutant’s mind flooded his thoughts.  He thrashed for an instant, trying to get to the building he’d been ordered to go to, but he was trapped.  Then he stopped, his mind clear of influence.

 

\---

 

Charles had been huddled with his binoculars on top of a building outside of Congress, across from an empty grey house with an otherwise lush and orderly garden.  Except there was a foot of snow covering it all.  

The building he was on was tall enough so that he could clearly see the side door of Congress.  He looked around with his binoculars and spotted several guards sitting around looking bored.  There would be time enough to deal with them when he was sure another psychic wasn’t watching.  He thought he felt something odd coming from Kennedy, but he dismissed it as nothing.

Charles was intrigued.  From his mental surveillance, he gathered that Erik was sitting up with the President.  Shocking.  

_ What kind of donation to the US government did you have to make, _ Charles wondered wryly,  _ for you to be standing where you are? _

He softly touched the minds of the assembly below his old friend, just in case.  To no surprise, he sensed three mutants in the crowd alone.  

Charles didn’t dare delve further into their minds in case they noticed.  However, he was missing one mutant from Erik’s team.  It would be sensible to have someone cover from afar, so he cast his mind out gently to see if he could find them nearby.

There she is, he thought, as he sensed a woman on the top floor of a brick building about two hundred feet away.  By the way her mind was focused on Erik and the rest of her team, she hadn’t noticed him.

Then Charles felt a mental shift as the surface thoughts of the assembly turned to cheers and applause and his attention flicked back to Erik. 

Charles knew he had to be quick.  If Erik also had telepathy, then Charles would need to overwhelm him before the other had a chance to fight back.  Charles wrinkled his nose.  Brute force wasn’t his style, but it was necessary.

Charles’ mind threw itself at Erik’s, enveloping it to cut off any communication he might try to make with his allies.  Then he sent a sharp twinge of pain to divert Erik’s attention and leave his mind vulnerable.  An instant later, Charles had complete control over Erik’s faculties, although his mind was still putting up a fight.  

He was surprised at how easy it was to simply crush Erik’s resistance, especially since he believed Erik was telepathic.  He’d figure out why once he got a hold of him.  

Charles ordered his former friend to come to him, or rather, the house opposite, but to do it inconspicuously.  

Suddenly, Charles’ control slipped, and he heard a bloodcurdling mental scream, then,  _ Tel-Telepathy.  Mutant.   _ It was Erik’s voice.   _ Too strong, I can’t- _

Before he could retake control, he felt another presence in Erik’s head.  The presence broke his control over Erik’s body, but it didn’t break the link he had with his mind.  

_ Erik. _

_ Emma.  Whoever it was, they w-wanted me to go to this place _ .  

Charles’ heart skipped a beat.  God, it really was Erik.  He sounded just as Charles thought he would.  A flicker of doubt crossed his features and he frowned slightly.  But then he remembered his mission, the good of the many, equality.  All that.  Then he was back on the job.  

Charles sensed Erik thinking of the image of the house opposite.   _ They may want to take control of Kennedy… _

_ Erik.  I’m holding them back, but once I transform- _

So Frost was the telepathic one.  Interesting.  

But that meant his plan had gone to shit.

_ Go. _

Charles wrested control of Erik once again, but once he realized he had tied himself down, he gently began to infiltrate Frost as well.  She hadn’t noticed his touch before, and this time he was being far more subtle.  

Ever so gently, he introduced the idea of warning the others.  She latched onto the idea and began contacting McCoy and Summers, but not Darkhölme.  He didn’t want to press too hard for her to do it in case she noticed, as he had not gathered how skilled she was in telepathy, but it was infuriating to not know who Darkhölme was.

Before he could influence her further, his connection cut off sharply.  It wasn’t that she’d raised a barrier with her mind, it was as if her mind had… stopped existing.

Charles peered over the roof of the building to where Frost had been before she’d ‘disappeared’.  

With an almighty crash, what seemed to be a living diamond smashed through the upper story window and fell into the snowy road.  A moment later, a diamond Emma Frost began sprinting towards his street.

Diamond, Charles thought.  So that’s what it was.  It didn’t make the job any easier, and it was already a catastrophic failure.

Charles hurried to edge down the roof and swung himself through a window.  He dashed down the stairs, taking them three at a time.  He stuffed the binoculars into a backpack and brushed the clumps of snow off his thick winter coat before leisurely opening the door.  

He pulled the hood up and stuffed his hands in his pocket just as Frost’s diamond form threw herself through the wall of the building opposite.  And she had super-strength too, Charles thought, as she ripped through the thick wall like a child through a barrier of alphabet blocks, but with a hundred times the noise.

Acting with the few people that were on the street, he froze.  

Then, a beige colored convertible swung into the street, tires screeching.  From underneath his hood, Charles glimpsed Summers at the wheel glaring around him angrily and McCoy riding shotgun, clenching the sides of the car with white knuckles.

How had they managed to get here so quickly?  

The few people that were out on the icy January morning scrambled away as the mutants hopped out and dashed through the hole in the wall that Frost had made.  Charles, glad for an excuse to escape this mess of a situation, dashed down a side alley, not stopping for several blocks, where he promptly slid behind a rubbish bin.

He pulled his hood down and lay the back of his head against the rusty red brick wall behind him.  “What the hell?” he whispered to himself.  For some reason he couldn’t stop grinning.  “What,” he chuckled, “the actual hell?”  He was laughing now, and knew he wouldn’t stop for several minutes.

Once the humour at the fact that he was freezing behind a wastebin in Washington DC had faded, he began to pull himself together.  

He had miscalculated.  It turned out that Frost was the psychic.  And she could turn into diamond.  And he didn’t know anyone else’s powers.  Not even Erik’s.

Charles swore.  He should have taken the time to find out while he’d had control over his old friend.  But he couldn’t check now, what with Frost on the lookout.

But.

He knew who the telepath was, and although she was no doubt strong, to be on Erik’s team, Charles felt she lacked subtlety.  He also assumed that she never practiced shielding her mind as much as she ought to, since she could easily become a diamond and block all psionic energy and commands.  

Charles mouth twisted into a slight smirk.  He knew how to get around that.

It was odd.  He didn’t feel as irritated at his own failure as he should have.  It was probably because this way allowed him to so this his way.  Subtly and silently.

He waited another half an hour until things had calmed down slightly, then made his way back to Westchester by train.  

When he got to the station, he found one of the staff waiting for him in a car outside.

“I trust your trip went well?” he asked calmly, swerving like a madman out of New York and into the countryside.

“You have no idea,” Charles said, washing away the memory of the conversation from the driver’s mind.

_ Just drive, _ he suggested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooh a lot of stuff happened in that chapter. Most of the research I did for this fic was for this chapter, I'll be honest, and it included me rewriting the whole Kennedy speech thing to make it his State of the Union address instead of his Innaugural one (so I moved it to the next year) so that the timing of everything would work out :’D (1000% worth it though).   
> Also I apologize for all this political stuff. Well, not really. After doing all the research (and somehow managing not to spoil myself for xm:fc) I just couldn't not factor in the Cold War a whole lot.  
> See you wonderful people next time!


	4. Lectures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a very fickle chapter and it was rather difficult to write. Nonetheless, I hope I've written it right. 
> 
> I also used it as an opportunity to explore the world of mutants a bit better :)

 

“Yeah.  Emma completely destroyed the place looking for the guy.”

From the hospital bed in their headquarters, Erik chuckled.  “I can imagine.”

Hank laughed.  “I thought the house was gonna come down,” he added.

“What about Raven?  I heard she tackled the President, but she just said she just bumped into him.”

Hank nodded.  “Both, kind of.  I think it was kind of a protective hug,” he chortled.  “Either way, Kennedy was rather shocked when he’d heard you’d taken ill.”

Erik closed his eyes.  “Mmh,” he grunted.  He was still physically weak, although the pain had receded almost a day ago.

“He got mildly concerned when he found you passed out in one of the rooms, but he said you’d be OK.”

Erik groaned again.  How embarrassing.  He’d been in bed all week on Hank’s orders.  The others had all stopped by at one point to tell them the story from their point of view, and they'd agreed that it was the work of a lone telepath, otherwise they wouldn’t all be standing there.  

Why they'd targeted Erik instead of the President was a complete mystery, but Erik supposed that if someone had attacked the President then world politics would explode, along with several countries. 

Erik was willing to bet that it had been a Soviet, or at least hired by the Soviets.  What reason would an  _ American _ mutant have to attack the Mutants Rights Organization, especially after all the progress they were making?

Erik turned his head to face Hank.  “Are you close to tracking them down, though?” He asked for about the thousandth time.

Hank shook his head.  “Nope.  But we did find out that he was actually hiding in the building  _ opposite _ the one you saw in your vision, because we found the tenants tied up in the bathroom.”

“Did they see their attacker?” Erik asked eagerly.  This was new news.

Hank shook his head again.  “No.  All they remember is hearing a knock at the door.  Emma thinks that he compelled them to tie each other up.”

“He?”

“I went into the house later and sniffed around.  It was definitely a man’s smell, and it matches none of the tenants’ scents, I checked.”  

Erik nodded.  He trusted Hank’s nose. 

“It's really weird though,” the doctor continued.  “He smelled more like,” Hank grasped for words, “a… businessman or a lawyer rather than a mercenary.  His clothing smelled expensive at least.”  Hank shrugged.  “I'm probably imagining it.”

Erik frowned.  Like Hank, he was a bit confused.  “Well I can go back to my own room now, right?  Yesterday you said-”

Hank nodded, evidently not happy that Erik had remembered.  

“Good,” Erik said, pushing himself up, “Tomorrow, you and I are going to-”

Hank shook his head.  “Nope, sorry, can't,” he said raising his hands as if to push Erik down again.  “I'm going to a lecture in New York tomorrow.”

Erik sighed.  “Hank, in light of recent events, don't you think it's more important to-”

“Erik you don't understand.  I received an invitation.  There are only about twenty people going, and it's hosted by the most brilliant geneticist in his private residence.  I can't  _ not _ go,” Hank explained.

Erik frowned, as if he were seriously beginning to want to strangle Hank.  They were in a national emergency for heaven's sake!  He glared at Hank.

Hank stared back at him.

“Fine,” Erik said, breaking eye contact in mock resignation.  

Later that day, Erik moved his things back upstairs, namely his toothbrush and dirty clothes.  Hank had let him borrow most of the other things he needed, like soap and a razor, which he returned to the sickroom bathroom.

He then preceded to waste the rest of the day sitting in an armchair overlooking the rainy, slushy street where children were making last ditch attempts to have snowball fights. 

As Erik glanced out the window, he started to form a plan.  

Obviously his attacker would strike again.  Especially if he'd been right and the man was working for the Soviets.  

When they caught him they'd have to interrogate him.  Thoroughly.   

Erik winced.  _  He _ most definitely wouldn't like to be questioned by anyone in the group, especially not Hank or Emma.  Then he remembered how much being taken over had hurt.  

But, he thought, wrenching himself back on track, if the telepath was going to try again, then Erik and his team had the advantage.

 

\---

 

Erik did not realize, mind occupied with his fantasies of their counter strike, that he had drifted off to sleep until his head flopped to the side, startling him awake.

It was pitch black outside, but by the light of the dim streetlamp, Erik noticed that it was also pelting rain.

He got up and stretched.  Had he really been slouched on that armchair for, he checked his watch, six hours?

His stomach growled as he descended the tiny, cramped spiral staircase to the living room.

He yawned, then saw the figure on the couch clutching a mug of sweet-smelling something that steamed up his glasses.

“Hank?” He asked, mid-yawn.  “What are you doing?”

Hank put the drink down on the glass coffee table and held up his other hand which held a sheaf of paper.

“Reviewing.”

Erik frowned.  “Hank, you aren't in college anymore.  You don't need to review before a lecture.”

Hank grinned.  “Try and stop me,” he said.  “These papers on individual mutations are incredible.  But that's just the cardboard bottom on the cake,” Hank began.

Erik considered the odd metaphor.

“He also devised a whole advanced classifying system for mutant powers, and he figured out why mutants powers usually manifest during puberty.”  Hank picked up his mug again.  “This is his first lecture in a year, and I am kind of in the middle of a moment here,” Hank said, giddily sipping what Erik now saw was hot chocolate.

“Interesting,” he said, going into the kitchen to get his own cup of cocoa.  Like he'd expected, Hank had made extra, and it was still hot.

“His papers on individual mutations are going to turn out to be very helpful,” Hank called after him.  “Especially with recruiting for that, uh, Cuba thing,” Hank finished lamely, glossing over their next assignment.  You never knew who could be listening, even in America.

Erik came back with his steaming hot chocolate.  “I was actually thinking of just going ourselves, actually.  At least I trust all of you.”

Hank stared at him.  “You should tell that to the others.  I mean, how are you going to explain your absence?  What-”

“It's just an idea,” he said, then to change the subject, “Why don't you go sleep?  It's late.”

Hank shook his head.  “Can't.  Tried.  Too excited.  I'll probably manage to sleep on the train over, somehow.”

Erik grinned as he sat down next to Hank.  “What's his name?” He asked, easing into the sofa and mentally preparing himself for a few hours of Hank’s rambling.

“Professor Charles Xavier, he-”

Hank was cut off as a scalding hot stain appeared on the other man’s trousers as Erik spilled his cocoa all over his lap.

“Erik?” He asked carefully, peering into his vacant eyes.

“What was his name again?” Erik asked in a drawn out whisper.

“Charles Xavier,” Hank said reassuringly.

“Fuck,” Erik whispered, just as quietly as before.

 

\---

 

“Explain,” Hank said as he dabbed at the expensive leather sofa.  “But first, take off your trousers.  You'll ruin the furniture”

Erik looked like he would protest, but before he could say anything, Hank said, “Erik, I'm your doctor.  I  _ literally  _ put on your underwear for you this morning.  So take your trousers off.”

Erik obliged with much rolling of the eyes.

His face broke into a bright grin the likes of which Hank hadn’t seen in months.  “Charles was my friend before,” he froze, face falling twice as quick as it had lit up, and he looked away. “the War, but he… left.  And then we moved to Poland and-” he breathed in deeply, but didn't let it out.

“Please stop.  I can tell you can't talk about what happened, and although you  _ need _ to talk about it, I'm not the best person for it right now,” Hank said seriously.  “But I think Professor Xavier might be.”

Erik looked at him distractedly.

“Do you want to come with me tomorrow?”

Erik nodded slowly.  

Hank jerked his head back at the stairs.  “You should sleep.”

“Can't,” Erik said slowly.

Both of them sat in silence, until Hank went and got new mugs of hot chocolate for both of them.  Then they sat in silence that was sometimes broken by a soft slurping noise.

 

\---

 

Erik awoke the next morning on the couch with a giddy feeling attacking his stomach.  

It took him a moment to remember why wasn't wearing trousers.  Then he remembered.  “Charles,” he half whispered.

He pushed himself up, realizing his head had been resting on Hank’s legs.

“Good, you're awake,” Hank said in a monotonous voice “I thought if you were on me any longer, circulation in my legs would cut off.”  Erik noticed that the other man’s eyes were squinting slightly and that there were two enormous jugs of cocoa on the coffee table.  “Couldn't sleep,” he explained.

Hank swung his legs off the sofa, cursing.  “Pins and needles.  Of all the things…”

Thankfully, it was still early in the morning.  According to Hank’s watch it was 6 A.M..

They both freshened up by sniffing their armpits (Hank confirmed that, yes, Erik stank), taking showers, shaving and picking out their best clothes.  

Hank wore the dark brown tweed suit and matching hat with his creamy shirt that he always wore for lectures. 

“Tie or bow tie?” He asked Erik, who'd dressed in a black coat and matching pants with a dark, wine-red shirt.

Erik grinned.  “Bow tie.”

Hank looked at him, then took one from Erik’s drawer and began knotting the bow.  

Erik pulled a white scarf from a hanger in his closet and wrapped it around his neck.  “How do I look?” he said, turning to Hank and flashing his biggest toothy smile.

Hank looked from the smile, to the red shirt and black trousers.

“Like a murderer, out to kill again,” he said dryly.

  
  


Hank roused Alex, and after feeding him, got him to drive them both to the train station.  He was a fast driver, which was good because they were nearly late, but he was also the kind of driver that was so reckless that he either had diplomatic immunity or went stunt driving on the weekends (Alex had neither).

“Oh God,” Hank hissed between clenched teeth, clutching at his heart as Alex swung the car around the final corner that separated Hank and Erik from Union Station.

Hank didn't calm down until the train left the station.  He stopped peering out of the window and settled into his seat, which was across from Erik’s.

“How do you feel?  You haven't said a word since we left the house,” he said.

Erik smiled slightly, like a child trying to hold back frustrated tears.  “I guess I feel a little strange, seeing Charles after all this time.  On one hand, the time we spent together as children was some of the best of my life.  On the other hand, well, we abandoned each other.  I don't know if he would want me back in his life, and I'm not completely sure I'm ready for him to come back into mine."

“I'm sure he will,” Hank said as the train sped through the grey countryside.  “Friends are like that.  As for you, I doubt you’d have come along if you wanted him out of your life completely.”

A lady came around, offering everyone drinks.  Both Hank and Erik declined the alcohol but accepted tap water.

A few hours later, they got off and stepped out into the streets of New York City just as it was about to rain again.  

And they'd forgotten to bring umbrellas.

Hank pulled his cap down to keep it from flying away in the wind as he and Erik walked down to where taxis waited for people who were just coming out of the train station.  Thunder grumbled through the hiss of pouring rain.

If the sky had been pregnant with precipitation before, it was about to give birth to triplets, all of them screamers.

Hank desperatelyank desperately tapped on a taxi door, and the cabbie leaned to look out at him.  “Do you think you could take us to Westchester?” Hank asked brightly, water speckling his glasses.

“Yeeeah…” The driver said hesitantly.  Before he could object, Erik had opened the back door and they'd both scooted into the back seats.

“1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center please,” Hank said, taking off his glasses and trying to wipe the water off with his jacket, which only made it worse.

Erik leaned over.  “You  _ memorized _ his address?” He hissed under his breath.

Hank turned to him completely shamefacedly.  “He is my idol, Erik,” he said.  “It's not like I can just forget-”

Erik cut him off with a sigh, and the cab rolled smoothly out of the arrivals area just as the sky opened up to deliver a sea of rain and lighting.

The drive to Charles’s house, “mansion”, as Hank had reminded him multiple times, was painfully long.

Erik asked Hank if they would be late, but apparently the lecture was from four until six, then questions, then dinner.  

Hank seemed overjoyed at the prospect of dinner.

“If you sit next to him at dinner, can I sit next to you?” he practically begged.

“Of course,” Erik said, checking just how wet his shoes were.

When they first spotted the mansion through the trees, he'd thought Hank was about to faint.  

“You don't understand, Erik.  I need to know this man.  I need to be his friend so that I can tell him every day that he’s a genius.”

Erik laughed, thinking about his own friendship with Charles.

They pulled up in the gravel drive a few minutes later.  By then, a clump of butterflies was making its way through his intestines.

He paid the driver in a hurry then got out of the car, looking at the tall grey stone walls of the Xavier mansion.

As the two men walked up the mansion steps, Erik said in a low voice, “Alright, before we do anything, I'm going to the bathroom.”

Hank nodded weakly.  “I think I'm about to piss myself,” he said.

At the door, a helpful butler pointed them in the right direction.

 

\---

 

Professor Charles Francis Xavier strode into the lecture hall at precisely four in the afternoon.  

“Good afternoon everyone,” he said, walking through the central aisle and down to the chalkboard.  

Charles had never lost his passion for learning, and when he'd been old enough, he'd begun teaching.  Teaching was so similar to his mutation: he could influence so many minds, reach so many people.  But most of all, Charles taught students and scientists alike because he wanted to share the thrill of discovery with others.  

Plus, it helped get into a variety of different countries that would otherwise have been locked shut.  

_ Knowledge is power, and the one giving it is in control _ , he thought as he grabbed a piece of chalk from his desk to the side.

“This lecture is going to be about a little bit of everything, but it will mainly focus on the relationships of primary and secondary mutations and how they affect each other, both biologically and psychologically, although I will focus more on the psychological aspects.  Feel free to raise your hand if you have a pressing question about what I'm explaining.  If you have a general question, write it down and save it until the end.”

He wrote,  _ Primary  _ and  _ Secondary _ on the board.

“It has long been speculated that the primary and secondary mutations of mutants with multiple powers are connected.  What I have here today is a theory of a theory, although I may be onto something.”  He grinned at the right side of the lecturing hall, as if silently saying,  _ humour me _ .

“I have recently made the acquaintance of a mutant who has both the ability to freeze objects and slightly accelerated healing,” he began.

“Now”, he said, drawing two clusters of cells under  _ Primary  _ and  _ Secondary _ , “we know that in most cases, accelerated healing comes from a sped up immune system, meaning that the X-gene helped the body produce more energy or becoming more efficient,” Charles said, going on to explain the finer aspects of X-genetics.

“But, in comparison, their other power, cooling, does exactly the opposite.  It takes away energy, cooling a substance.”

Charles strode back down the middle aisle, gesturing at the board.  “My theory is that in most cases of dual mutation, the secondary power negates, cancels out, or is the opposite of the primary power.”

He walked back.  “This isn't always evident.  For example,” he said wiping away the cell diagram with a damp towel, “I had the great privilege to meet a woman who could transform herself into whatever material she touched, as long as it was inorganic.  

She also had a secondary mutation of mind reading.  Not full telepathy, but a single aspect of it.”

Charles spun around to face his class, which he was pleased to see was taking notes, all except one man in the front row.  “Now I'm sure you're wondering…” His voice died in his throat.

He tried to speak, but found all he could do was breathe and stare at the man in dark red in the front row.  

His hair was slightly longer than in the photos he'd been given, and he was smiling openly, brighter than a broken egg.

Charles turned around, facing the blackboard again and took a shaky breath.

“I'm sure you're wondering,” he continued, “how these two powers would cancel or nullify each other, but in this case, one would trump the other.  

“I had a full telepath try and infiltrate her mind in human form and while fully transformed.  

“To my surprise, I discovered that the telepath could not enter her mind while she was transformed.  

“To me it made no sense.  She must have had a mind for the telepath to access, because she was sentient and had control of her body, and yet the telepath was unable to access it.

“If she had transformed into one of several types of metal, the explanation could have been that her skull would have acted like a psion-blocking helmet. 

“However, we also had her transform into stone, which produced the same effect.”  

Charles went on to explain that he believed that her second mutation affected her primary mutation and granted her immunity to telepathy while transformed.

Someone in the left hand front row raised their hand.  

Charles felt his stomach metaphorically fall down a set of stairs.  Why was McCoy here?  Well that would definitely explain why Erik was here.

He stifled a groan as he remembered telling the organizer to invite outstanding geneticists who’d be in the area that day.  And then he'd neglected to go over the guest list.

Did McCoy suspect him of anything?  

“Yes, question?” He said smiling, pointing at McCoy.

“Do you believe that she was using the powers simultaneously then?”

Charles shook his head.  “Sorry, I didn't explain that very well.  When the child is born with the X-gene, they innately have both the primary and secondary powers.  I believe that, to create a sort of balance of the powers, the telepath gene mutated the transformation gene into having telepathic immunity.”

McCoy nodded slowly, then raised his hand again.  “What about cross-species mutations?” He asked.  “They often have a secondary healing mutation.”

Charles smiled despite himself.  McCoy was brilliant.

“You've hit upon the second half of my ‘big idea’,” he said.  “In this case, the secondary power complements the primary power and lets the cross mutation extend and retract their claws, teeth, tails or gills without permanent damage to their body. 

“This is the complete opposite of the cancelling out of powers from before.”

Charles turned to face the whole class again, avoiding Erik’s eyes.  

“Hopefully with further research, we will find out why so many mutants with dual mutations fit into either the opposing powers or complementing powers categories.”

Charles lecture continued for another hour and a half, and he carefully made sure not to make eye contact with Erik, and praying that his old friend couldn’t see how the chalk was shaking in his hand. 

He talked at length about different combinations of mutations and how they were all either opposing or complementary.

Finally, he finished with “Before we go to dinner, I'd like to thank a few people without whom this work would not have happened.” 

He swallowed.  “I'd like to thank all the mutants who participated in testing who I will not name for their own safety.  I would also like to thank all the scientists who worked alongside me for so long and put up with my frequent bouts of illness and absence.”

He turned to the left hand side of the lecture hall.  “Finally, I'd like to thank Erik Lensherr,” he said, lips dry, face blank.  “For…” He paused, “Without whom I would be a very different man today,” he said quickly, as if it cost him a great effort.

He locked eyes with Erik whose own were wide in shock.

People began to clap, and Charles was the first to leave the room.

 

\---

 

Destiny saw him in the bathroom a few minutes later.  This was his private one that connected to his rooms, so it was larger and better furnished than the ones in the entrance hall, but it didn't matter because when you're about to throw up, all bathrooms look the same.

Thankfully he hadn't vomited, but Charles didn't trust his stomach to keep still.

Erik was here.  Erik was  _ here _ .  And McCoy.  Damnit, why did McCoy have to be a geneticist?  Had they picked up on the fact that he'd used Emma’s power set as an example in his lecture?  He'd barely disguised it.  Transformation and telepathy.  Oh, this was not going well.

Charles slowed his breathing.  This was good, he told himself, now he had a chance to finish what he'd started.  Except….

With a roomful of geneticists that specialized in mutants, you could never tell who was and who wasn't a mutant.

Many mutants, like himself and probably McCoy as well, Charles knew, had become scientists to learn more about themselves.

He couldn't risk being discovered by the others in the event there was another telepath out there.  Charles groaned.  He was going to have to resort to the regular kind of manipulation and try and get Erik to stay afterwards so he could get to work.

Seeing his old friend again had rattled him badly.  On a photograph, it was easy to just imagine Erik as just a target with a face he used to know, but now there was no denying that he was ordered to do something terrible to a real person who he knew.

_ It's not like I'm doing anything permanent _ , he chided.  

He glanced at himself in the mirror.  Then at his clothes.  Just in case they smelled faintly, he brushed his teeth.  Then, he stuffed some dried lavender sprigs that were artfully decorating the window sill into his pockets.

He dashed into his room and reached for the large jar on his desk.  

_ No idea how I'm going to hide this,  _ he thought.

Then he steeled himself, opened the door, and went downstairs.

 

\---

 

Erik glanced around the living room.  They were slightly cramped, there weren't enough armchairs and sofas to accommodate everyone, so a few people were up on their feet.  

Unsurprisingly, he and Hank were standing.

There was a lit fireplace in the center of the wall on the far side of the room.  Sofas and armchairs gathered around it in a half circle where more than a dozen scientists in expensive clothing discussed the lecture.  

Hank and Erik stood just outside the semicircle.  Hank would occasionally lean in to add something, but mainly he talked with Erik.

“I wonder where he is,” Hank wondered aloud. 

Erik shrugged.  He was still extremely confused.  Charles had refused to make eye contact throughout the lecture, but he had thanked him at the end.  What did it all mean?  The mixed signals were killing him.

He hadn’t expected for Charles to look the same as he had when he was just a child, from the happy little mannerisms to the colour of his hair and eyes.  It was slightly unnerving, and oddly thrilling.

Something pulled at his sleeve.

“What?” He asked irritably, turning around to see Hank pointing at the door from which they had come through which was ajar.

Charles was standing just outside.  He beckoned with a slight gesture of the head and a raised eyebrow.

Hank’s eyes flicked to Erik.  “Can I come?”

Erik grinned.  “Of course.”

They looked around to see if anyone would notice their disappearance but they were all enthralled in the discussion around the fire.

The two of them sneaked towards the door then slipped out, pulling it closed behind them.

Without a word between them, Hank and Erik followed the professor quietly into a side chamber, furnished with two sofas on opposite sides of a dark wooden coffee table.  

The moment Erik closed the door behind them, he turned, just as Charles threw his entire weight behind a hug. 

“It's been too long, old friend,” Charles exclaimed shaking Erik's shoulders.  “I thought I'd never see you again,” he said in a low voice.

Charles was rather shorter than Erik, wearing a light blue shirt and clean white trousers.  His hair was light brown and boyish.  To Erik, he looked like the sky on pleasant autumn days.

Erik pulled him into an even tighter hug.  He couldn't think of anything to say.  Feeling Charles in his arms like he used to, Erik started laughing.  It was like nothing had changed.

Then they remembered Hank was in the room.

Charles released Erik's shoulders and turned to face the third man.

“Hank McCoy, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Charles said, extending a hand.  “I admire your work, especially your medical operations on mutants whose anatomies deviated from regular humans’.”  He beamed.

Hank took the hand with both of his.  “Oh- I- Thank you very much,” Hank said.  “It's an honour to hear that, especially from you.”

“So tell me,” Charles said motioning for them to sit down, “How did the two of you meet?” He asked, lounging back into the sofa like a cat in the sun.

Hank and Erik looked at each other.  

“Work,” Hank said.

“Work,” Erik echoed an instant later.

“ _ Classified  _ work,” Hank said.  Erik could tell he was trying to sound impressive.  

“Mutant work?” Charles asked, beginning to smirk.

“Maybe,” Erik said, mirroring him.

Charles leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Work.  Reminds me of America, and speaking of America,” he said, pulling something heavy from under the table, “here's something that'll help you get that dream job you always wanted, although you're pretty close already.”

He placed it on the table and slid it over to Erik, who was sitting opposite.  

It was a jar, although it was the size of a medium vase.  It had a thick lid with a fat slit cut into it.  There were numbers scrawled on the top.  $ 26.21, руб 17.50

There was a long pause.  

“Thank you.”  Erik took the jar gently.

“Oh goodness, just look at the time,” Charles said, getting to his feet.

He brought them down to the dining hall, a long room with large windows that slid open onto a terrace overlooking the Xavier estate.  The sun was just setting over the snow-laden branches.

The table was long and made with dark wood, covered in a clean white lacey cloth and plates with expensive cutlery.  

“My greatest worry,” Charles said out of the corner of his mouth, “is that someone will steal a spoon.”

Hank snorted, while Erik's smile widened, which he hadn't thought could be possible.

Scientists in business suits milled around the hall and on the terrace.

At a signal from Charles, the staff that were stationed around the room in quiet corners rounded up the guests and sat them down. 

Charles, as the host, sat at the head of the table.  He tapped the plate to his right, “Erik?” He offered, then, to the plate in his left, “Doctor McCoy?”

Erik toted his jar around to his seat like a child.

“Please,” Hank said as he sat down, “just Hank is fine.”

Everyone sat and looked expectantly up the table to the professor as staff came around with drinks.

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to join you after the lecture,” he began, “but I was busy making up lost time with an old friend.”  He raised his glass.  “However, I will be spending the remainder of the evening with you all.”

A laugh went around the table and waiters and waitresses came around with large platters of duck, pork and beef, with pots of gravy and fresh vegetables. 

“Pork?” Charles asked, fishing some out of a large plate and gesturing at Erik.

“No, I'm, uh, Jewish.”

Charles fumbled with the serving spoon and the pork slipped back onto the platter with a squishy flopping noise.

“Oh, sorry,” he said with a nervous laugh.  

Inside, he was on panic mode.  Charles hadn't known Erik was Jewish.  They hadn't talked about religion when they were younger.  

But Erik had moved to Poland, of all places, and that was the absolute worst place to have been… Charles felt sick again.  

He locked eye with Erik.  “Can we talk… later?” He asked.

Charles hated himself for asking.  He told himself that he only wanted to talk to help his friend, but he knew he was also doing it to get Erik alone so he could complete his mission. 

Damn it which one was more important anyway?

_ Mission.  Mission.  The good of the many _ , Charles repeated to himself.  

He smiled, turning to Hank.  “So, Hank, what would you like?” He asked.

Hank shrugged.  “I'll just have some duck, but you don't have to-”

Before he could say anything, Charles had dished some up.

The whole meal went by this way.  Charles served the people nearest him and talked with all of them, sometimes in discussions that involved the whole table, and in smaller discussions with about a third of the table.

It was during one of the large discussions at the end of the dinner that something caught Hank's attention.

“So where’ve you been the past few months, Charles?” Someone called from nearly all the way down the table, laughing.

“Oh, around.  You know, this rather large place called Europe,” Charles called back.

The person snorted.

Hank laughed along with the rest of them as the staff cleared away the plates to make way for dessert.

Hank leaned back in his seat and inhaled deeply.  

Huh.  Odd.  Something smelled familiar, so he sniffed again, but he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.  To know what it was, he'd have to turn into the Beast, which was a) incredibly rude in mutant society as it implied he didn't trust anyone and b) it was social suicide, as mutants were dreadfully mistrusted and hated by most of the general population and he doubted that everyone could be relied on to keep quiet.

Hank gave a mental shrug.  He looked at Charles, then remembered something.  “Prof- Charles, sorry, I was wondering.”

Charles turned to look at him.  “Yes, Hank?”

“I was wondering if you…” Hank paused then shook his head.  “Never mind.”

Charles leaned forward.  “No, go on.  I value your opinion,” he said with an encouraging smile.

Hank laughed awkwardly.  “Well, you seem to know a lot of mutants.” By now, Erik had turned to listen.  “And I was wondering how you find them.”

Charles laughed and leaned back in his seat.  “Hank, it's not like I go mutant hunting or anything like that.  Usually they volunteer,” he said.  Before Hank could ask another question, Charles answered it.  “But if you  _ were _ trying to  _ find _ a mutant, I would suggest asking a telepath.  They're good at finding people, and not even disguises work against them.”

Behind Charles, Hank saw Erik mouth,  _ Emma? _

Hank took a breath.  “The thing is,” he stopped, then looked at Erik.  “Can we tell him?” He asked.  When Erik nodded, he continued, “We’re actually looking for a telepath.  A strong one.”

Charles nodded slowly, taking it all in.  “I see.  That would be a slight problem, as full telepath a can shield their thoughts.”  He paused.  “I could help, I suppose…”

Hank leaned forward, frowning.  “Really?” He asked.

Charles’ lips tightened.  “I have many records of mutants.  Files, where they are, the like,” he said waving a hand.  “But I…” He bit his lip and let out a shaky breath that sounded like a laugh, “I'm afraid I value privacy, and the privacy of others.”  Charles almost burst out laughing when he said that last bit.   _ Privacy?  I'm a telepath for goodness’ sake! _

Erik rested a hand on Charles’ shoulder.  “Look.  I don't want to force you to choose between your values and our friendship.”

Charles couldn’t help himself.  He laughed.  “God Erik, it's too late.  I'll help, but you two and anyone else working with you have to swear not to tell anyone.”

Erik shrugged and looked at Hank.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

The rest of the meal passed without further conversation about the mysterious telepath.  

They all had slices of apple pie for dessert, then Charles showed them all back to the living room for tea and coffee.  
Slowly, people said their goodbyes and left, trickling out of the house over the course of an hour.  Soon, Hank and Erik were two of only five guests remaining.

Hank let out a reluctant sigh as he checked his watch.  “Erik, I told Alex to book a taxi back.  I told him to tell the driver to be here at ten,” he said, proffering his watch.

“Shame,” Erik said, “but I have something I need to tell you anyway, and it's best if I told you in private.”

Erik strode across the room to where Charles was having an animated discussion with the three remaining guests.

“I'm sorry Charles, but we have to leave, but I'd love to meet up sometime,” Erik said, awkwardly butting into the conversation.

Charles looked downcast at this, but he quickly recovered.  “Anytime, old friend.  Anytime.  Feel free to bring Hank as well.  He’s rather good company.”  
Erik flashed him a toothy smile.  “After we talk in private and catch up properly,” he said, giving a farewell wave.

Hank and Erik left, with Erik hefting the jar of coins he'd picked up from the coffee table with difficulty.    
As they exited the mansion, Hank checked for people watching, pulling on gloves.    
“You're good,” he whispered to Erik when he was sure the coast was clear.

Immediately, the jar of coins began to float.  “That was painful,” Erik said.  “They're heavier than I thought they would be.”  
The mutant stretched.  “God Hank, how can you stand not using your powers?” He asked as the jar unscrewed itself and coins poured into the air like a metal river, twisting and turning around him in glimmering arcs.  

Hank looked on enviously.  “Because unlike you, I can't hide the fact that-” he stopped.  “Whatever.  What did you want to tell me?” 

“When we were getting close to the mansion I felt thick metal walls underneath it.  I think it's some sort of bunker.”

“Interesting,” Hank said, then, giving a nervous laugh, “Well he did say he valued privacy.”

Erik laughed along with him as they strode around under a tree in the dark.  Their taxi should arrive in about five minutes, Erik thought.

Erik had neglected to mention the other thing he found odd.  What had Charles said again?

“ _ Here's something that'll help you get that dream job you always wanted, although you're pretty close already _ ”

If had Charles known he was head of the MRO, then why hadn't he contacted him?  After the passionate greeting Charles had given him, Erik thought it was unlikely that Charles had wanted to avoid him.  It didn't add up.  

Maybe it was because he was wearing expensive clothes, Erik thought.  After all, Charles hadn't specifically said that he knew Erik's job.

_ It was probably that _ , he thought.

Having had his fun, Erik directed the stream of coins back into the jar and used his power to screw the lid shut again.

“Taxi’s coming,” he said to Hank, having felt the metal approaching for the past five minutes.

Hank was silent.

“Do you think he's a mutant?” He asked after a moment.

Erik nodded firmly.  “The way he talks about mutants.  It's very personal.  And,” he added, “he seemed to really care about keeping the mutants’ identities safe.  No human would talk like that.”

Hank let out a huff of air.  “I don't think all people are as bad as that,” he said, and before Erik could say anything back, he continued, “but I do agree with you on his being a mutant.  He is a geneticist that specializes in studying mutants and the X-gene after all.”

Erik nodded.  It made a lot of sense.  “Who would've thought that two childhood friends would grow up to both be mutants,” he chuckled.

“I wonder what his power is…” Hank asked the night, drawing his coat tightly around him to keep away the early February chill.

Erik wasn't listening.  He was hugging his jar of coins to his chest, staring at the oncoming lights of the taxi reflecting in the snow, golden in the dead of night.  

But he wasn't actually staring at the glowing snow, he was remembering all those windy days under the sun, running through the emerald grass with not a care in the world, holding hands with the only other person who really mattered, not yet realizing that they were different.

Hank's voice seemed to come from a long way off.  “Erik?  Come on, it's really cold.”

Erik gave the snow covered mansion a long look.

“Yeah,” he said, then slipped into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmh. Hope I didn't bore you with mutant theories.  
> I wrote this whole chapter on my phone while I didn't have any good connection. On the one hand, I was in several long car rides across the countryside so I had extra time to work on it, and my texting speed also increased… drastically. On the other hand I am 9000% done with typing on my phone.


	5. Slow Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! Thanks for bearing with me :’D. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS/CHRISTMAS EVE depending on where you are in the world. I was hoping to post my Christmas themed chapter *on* Christmas, but sadly, it probably won't be up until almost new years-ish. I think I'm going to have an updating spree for most of my fics around the holidays as a gift to all of you <3 so *finger guns* stay tuned hAHa >:D 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

The Mutants’ Rights Organization’s official building received a letter early the next morning, stamped with a small, ornate letter X.

It was set next to, but apart from all the other mail, as if the mailman had known it was important, which it was.

It was Raven who picked it up, on her way back to their shared house with groceries.  She was disguised as a middle-aged man with greying hair and deep-set eyes.

She picked up the letter.  The stationary felt expensive, that is to say, it was a grainy, cream colored envelope, with a neatly inked name and address on the front.  If Raven hadn't known that people still used stationary as fancy as this, she would have thought it was antique.

She popped it in the grocery bag that held all the dried items, instant cocoa for Hank, mints for Emma and beer for Alex, although Erik liked to play with the bottle caps, among other things.

She left the rest of the mail for the staff to deal with.  

Raven stepped back out into the chilly air clutching her four bags of food.  She absolutely hated buying in bulk, but Erik had assured her that it was safer to remain hidden in their own house, which was more secure, since five very powerful mutants lived there.

She’d been elected to be the one to go out, because of her power.  That still meant that she had to carry four damn bags of groceries.  

The weight wasn't the problem.  In a fight, without using their powers, Raven was pretty sure she could floor the rest of her team, except for maybe Hank.  No, the problem was that the bag handles dug into her skin, and there was no way to prevent it.

She groaned in a deep voice, then groaned again as she remembered she looked like an old man.

When she finally reached the house a good fifteen minutes later, Raven kicked the doorbell, not wanting to drop the bags.

To anyone watching, it would have looked as if an middle aged man had suddenly melted into a lithe, blue skinned woman who slammed her foot into the wall next to the door.  

Then her leg lowered, and there was just an angry grey haired man standing indignantly at the doorstep.

That was the drawback of her powers, she thought with a sigh.  She could mimic someone perfectly, except for their powers, which could make her stronger in some cases, but weaker in others.

Emma opened the door.  She looked beautiful: flawless fair skin, golden locks that tumbled down her back.  She looked like Marilyn Monroe, Raven thought, if Marilyn Monroe hadn't slept for nearly a week.  

Raven saw that Emma’s eyes rimmed with dark circles and bags sagged beneath them.  A toothbrush was sticking out of her mouth.

Wordlessly, Raven came in and walked to the kitchen, dumping the groceries onto the table.

She pulled out the letter.

“Have you seen Erik?  There's a letter for him.”

“Asleep,” Emma said, as if it was a particularly disgusting swear word.

Raven nodded.  “You look like you need some,” she said.

Emma went over to the kitchen counter and picked up her coffee.

_Damn_ , Raven remembered, _I forgot coffee._

Emma took a sip and shook her head.  “I have to protect everyone, remember?” She said tapping her head with a finger.

That had been her excuse for self-imposed insomnia last three days.

“Well how about this.  I tie all the boys to their beds so they don't hurt themselves.  Then you tie me down, then you go all shiny and sleep,” Raven suggested.

Emma stopped, seriously considering it.  Then she shook her head.  “If any of them used their powers, then they could get out of any bonds we put on them.  Plus, I'm not sure if I can stay in diamond form when I'm asleep.

“Oh come _on_ , Emma,” Raven said in exasperation, “The telepath doesn't even know where we are!” She exclaimed.

Emma just shook her head again.  

“Fine.  If you're that determined, I guess there's no stopping you.  I'll go make some more coffee.”

Emma nodded her thanks as Raven brewed their last batch of coffee in a corner of the counter.

“Any leads on this mutant?” Raven asked absently.

“Yeah.  Hank said something about a professor, an old friend of Erik's who could help, but he also said he had a big idea he needed to test out and asked me if I could help.”

“Interesting.  I didn't know Erik had any friends but us, to be honest.  Well,” Raven corrected, “no friends good enough that he would trust them with what we’re doing, at any rate.”

“Mmh,” Emma agreed over the top of her coffee mug.  “What about Cuba?” She asked.  “The telepath screwed us up.”  She put the cup down.  “You know, what if it was a distraction to stop us from recruiting?”

Raven turned, tapping the counter excitedly.  “That makes complete sense,” she burst out.  “Erik said he thought the attacker was hired by the Soviets.  If they discovered that Kennedy was going to make a move on the missiles once they land in Cuba, then obviously they weren't going to let it slide.”

Emma nodded, wide eyed.

“Here, drink this,” Raven said, offering her a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Emma took a sip.  “Is this new?” She asked after a few gulps.

Raven shook her head.  “It's the same as always, but I added a few sleeping pills, extra strength.”

Emma turned to her.  “Are you crazy?” she shrieked, managing to keep it a whisper, albeit a very loud one.

“No,” Raven said, “but I am your friend.”

Emma blinked, and her eyes closed.  “Damnit, Raven, you're going to get the cussing out of a lifetime when I…” Her voice trailed off as she slumped over the kitchen counter.  

Raven carried her upstairs and laid her in her room, a plain bedroom furnished with a simple bed, desk, and small bookshelf.  The walls were plain white except across from her bed, where above her desk hung a simple painting of a cottage covered in snow.

“Sleep well.  I put enough in for twenty four hours of it,” Raven said, pushing aside the covers with a blue toe and laying Emma down.  She pulled the covers over her and left, closing the door behind her.

Raven doubted that the telepath was still watching them.  If he had been, then he would have struck earlier, when they had been disorganized.

Then she went back downstairs to put the groceries into the fridge.  

She checked the clock next to the stairway.  Six in the damn morning.  Yawning, Raven picked up the letter addressed to Erik and toddled off upstairs.

She slid it under his door, then opened the door to her room and fell onto her bed, morphing back to her normal shape.

 

\---

 

Erik woke up to the sound of a car honking outside.  He sat up, then decided that he was still tired and lay back down.

But he was awake, and now he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, he thought.  

He threw off his covers and yawned, going to his closet and reaching for whatever clothing he found first.  

He changed, then he walked over to the door, opening it with his powers.

There was a letter just inside, addressed to him.  He flipped it over and saw the fancy Xavier ‘X’.

He opened the letter carefully.

 

_Dear Erik,_ it read.

_After last night, I found myself looking over some mutants’ files classified under telepath.  Sadly, there are no full telepaths living within a good hundred miles._

_You neglected to mention why you were looking for one, which has been a major drawback, since I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be looking for._

_I'm going to be in Washington tomorrow afternoon, but since I'm writing this letter before bed, I'm assuming you're reading this tomorrow morning._

_I've told myself I'm only coming so that I can see the sights, as I've not been here for a couple of years, but I'm lying to myself._

_If you happen to be free at around four in the afternoon, I'd be delighted to meet you at a lovely little café called Leopoldo in Georgetown.  It's a little out of the way of DC, but whenever I come back I always go there._

_Let's just hope it's still open._

 

_Yours,_

_Charles_

 

At the bottom of the letter was scrawled an address under a P.S.  Charles had also written a P.P.S:

 

_I was just about to send this when I remembered you don't have the address.  My apologies._

 

Excitement bubbled in Erik's stomach as he slipped the letter into his jacket and hurried downstairs for breakfast.

As he reached the kitchen, he saw Alex lazily frying eggs on the stove.

Hank, in his blue beast form was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper.

“Erik!” Alex called out.  “You take over the eggs.  Beast over there doesn't think I'm doing it right,” he said, casting a withering glare at Hank.

The pan began to float a few centimeters above the stove, and a metal spatula flipped the eggs over.  

Alex rolled his eyes.  “Show off,” he said jokingly.

A few moments later, Hank piped up.  “Erik take the eggs off the stove.  You'll burn them.”

Erik did nothing.  “I'm the one cooking these, Hank.  I think I can tell when-”

Hank snorted.  “Since I'm the only one here with super-smelling abilities, I can say whatever I want about the food.  He pointed to the slices of golden brown toast that were already on the table.  “See these?” He asked.

Erik nodded.

“These are slices of pure toasty perfection.  And we all want the eggs to live up to the toast.”

Almost reluctantly, the dial controlling the cooker flipped to the _off_ setting.

The pan floated over to the table where Alex had laid out three plates.

The floating spatula unceremoniously scraped out an egg for Hank that splattered onto his plate with a squelching noise.

“Thanks.”

Erik served up the rest of the eggs a little more kindly, then sat down.  “Where are the others?” He asked.

“Asleep,” Alex said.  “I'm glad Emma’s getting some rest, even though we’re left undefended.  It hurt to see her looking so…” He paused, searching for the right word, “shaky.”

Hank nodded.  He'd set the newspapers down, and was now twirling a strand of his hair around a finger.  “Once she wakes up, I have something to say to everyone,” he said cryptically.  “I think we can maybe find a way to boost Emma’s telepathy and maybe find a way to shield ourselves, but that last part could raise a lot of problems.”

Erik opened his mouth to ask more, but Hank waved the question away with a clawed hand.  “I need to run tests first though,” he explained.

“Charles said he had some info on telepaths too,” Erik said, pulling out the letter and waving it around, “He said he'd be in Georgetown at four,” Erik continued, looking pointedly at Alex.

He seemed to get the hint.  “Sure, I'll drive you,” Alex said.  

Erik turned back to Hank.  “Did you have any questions I can ask him for you?”

Hank nodded slowly, thinking.  “Ask him if telepaths use waves to enter other people's minds,” he said, scratching his chin.

Erik was slightly confused at that, but he nodded, taking out a pen and writing it on the back of Charles’s envelope before slipping it back into a pocket.  

 

\---

 

4PM

Alex twisted the steering wheel aggressively to the left and the car turned into a small courtyard.

“We're here,” he said cheerfully to Erik, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat.  

Unlike Hank, Alex’s driving skills didn't terrify Erik.  He thought of car rides with the other man as exciting, since if they ever got too dangerous, Erik could just take control of the car with his powers.

He got out.  “Thanks, Alex,” he said, giving him a wave as the car sped away.

Erik turned to look at the small courtyard.  

It was paved with thick, rough, grey stones that ran in little patterns.  

Little stores lined the sides of the street, a bicycle shop, a bookseller’s, and a little café called _Léopoldo_.

The café seemed to have claimed most of the small clearing for its dozen tables with creamy white parasols and fire pits, all gathered around a central fountain.

Erik smiled as he saw Charles in a dark coat, waving him over to an outdoor table next to a fire pit.  

“Are you sure you want to sit outside?” Erik asked.  “I don't know if you've noticed, but it’s February.”

“I kind of like it out here.  It's pretty.”  Charles pointed to the fountain, which was making a feeble attempt to spray water, but was coming out in a dribble.  Then he added, “Plus, we have fire.”  He pointed to the fire pit next to their table.

Erik shrugged.  He didn't mind so much either.

Erik sat down, and a waitress came out to take their orders.

 

\---

 

Charles had honestly thought Erik wasn't going to show up.  

He was used to people arriving to meetings at least fifteen minutes early, not right on the dot.

But Erik had showed up, with Summers.  Charles had mixed feelings about if he wanted Summers there as well.  

It would make his mission much easier to have two of them under his control, but he's also wanted to actually talk with Erik before he, well, took control of his mind.

Thankfully, Charles was spared having to think further when the car zoomed away, accompanied with a screech as it rounded the corner.  

He waved Erik over, then a waitress, who took their orders.

Charles had tea, Erik had hot chocolate.  Charles poked fun at him for that, but honestly it just made Charles more fond of the other man.

They talked about the past, including the one time they had both fallen into a ditch while trying to catch a frog.  

Erik burst out laughing when Charles had brought it up.  “My mother was absolutely furious!” He said.

Charles snorted.  “Mine said I wasn't allowed out of the house until my shirt went white again,” he said.  “Do you know what colour it was?” He asked, tittering.

Erik wouldn't stop smiling.  “I remember it was cow-pat brown, with green where you'd slipped on the grass,” he said.

They laughed together for a few moments, remembering.

“Remember the time we found that package in your mum’s drawing room?” Erik said darkly.

Charles cringed.  “Oh God, how I wish I didn't,” he muttered with a slightly nervous laugh.

“We rolled it down those little stairs into the kitchen-”

“No, Erik please don't do this to me,”Charles moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“And hefted it onto the counter for your mum to see-”

“Nooooooo,” Charles said resting his forehead on the coffee table.  “Erik you _monster._ ”

Erik looked like was about to tear up from laughter.  “It sounded so-”

“Don't you dare-”

“Crunchy!”

Charles keeled over laughing.  “God, you're pure _evil_ ,” he managed.

“And so when your mum came home,” Erik continued, teeth bared in a smile, “We showed her that we'd brought a present for her-”

Charles wailed incomprehensibly.

“And you know what was in it?”

Charles choked on his laughter.  “A _fucking_ broken _vase,_ ” he wheezed.  “She spanked me so hard for that,” he said shaking his head.

And so it continued that way for nearly an hour, during which they progressed down the hierarchy of drinks that are acceptable to drink during the day, and ordered some wine.

They skirted nervously over Charles’ father’s death and his disappearance and then dodged around how Erik was gone when he eventually came back.

The sky was growing dim, but the fire pit beside them was still blazing as their conversation veered down a darker path.

“So, you were in Poland…during the war,” Charles said quietly, as he examined his glass of wine.

Charles never ‘turned off’ his telepathy.  It was as essential to himself as breathing.  So when he uttered the words, “Poland” and “War”, even though he wasn't actually probing in Erik's head, he could feel a sharp twinge of pain from the other man.

Mentally speaking, Charles would have compared it to Erik’s happiness falling off a cliff that had particularly aggressive looking stalagmites at the bottom.

He didn't expect Erik to speak, and was therefore extremely surprised when he did.

“Yes.  Me and mum had… Stars.”

Charles didn't say anything.  Even without his telepathy, he felt sick.  

He wanted to tell Erik to stop talking, to keep his misery to himself because his pain seemed contagious, but Charles knew, like any good psychiatrist, that he needed to really listen.

“And then one day.  We were at.  The gates at Auschwitz-”  Erik breathed in sharply.  “Mother-”

Charles felt the table rattle, the pole that held the parasol shook violently.

Charles reached out his hands and pulled the wineglass from Erik's stuff fingers, pulling his hand into his.

Erik pulled away, rubbing his wrist.

Charles went completely still.

“We were on different sides of the gate.  And.  Then.  The gates.”  Erik’s choppy sentences stopped and he looked at Charles with wide eyes, as if seeing past him.  As if seeing into the past.

“I'm a mutant,” Erik breathed.

Charles stared back at him.

Erik pulled back, and clamped a hand over his mouth.  Charles saw the edges of his eyes were wet and red.

Almost without thinking, Charles stretched out his mind to Erik's.

A flurry of thoughts nearly overwhelmed him.

They were impressions, images and sounds and emotions and words all in one.  

_He saw screaming, and hands reaching through cage bars, and he felt grime against his skin and a hairbrush tearing through hair where it had been tangled with clotting blood._

_He heard a wail and the hissing of gas and silence._

_Children with horns and scales and claws being dragged from screaming mothers and crying fathers.  Silence._ _  
_ _Scalpels and tools and white walls and a stain on the floor that never went away._

_214782._

_Needles._

_Silence_.

Charles’ mind reeled, trying to escape the barrage of agony, but it was like reaching out to save a drowning man.  He was drowning too.

Charles took a breath and wrenched himself away, taking deep breaths to calm himself.  “Oh Erik…” he whispered.

He realized his face was wet.  Had he been crying too?

Charles found himself wanting to take all the painful memories from Erik's mind, to bury them, to hide them far away.  

But he knew it would destroy Erik’s personality.  It would be like killing him.

“I was everything they hated,” Erik said slowly.

Charles looked up, eyes wide.

“I was a Jewish mutant who-”  Erik bit his lip.  “Who.  Who… Who loved-”

The hard knot in the back of Charles’s throat burned.  

How much trust did Erik have in him, to open up his box of secrets and let Charles have his pick?

What had Charles done to deserve _any_ of that?  Nothing but lie and trick and hurt him.  Charles started to sob silently.  Hiding his face from Erik, as if he could somehow take it all back.

“Erik I'm so _so sorry_ ,” Charles whispered.  His voice broke.  His hands pulled feverishly at Erik's.  “Erik please don't tell me any more,” he pleaded, “You don't understand-”.   _I'll use it against you._

Erik seemed not to hear.  He looked past Charles and it seemed as if he'd seen the light at the end of the tunnel.  “But then, I got out,” he said. “And I came to America.  And there was Hank and Raven, and then we found Alex, and then Emma found us all.”

A little colour seemed to be returning to his face.

“And then... it didn't all seem so bad.”

Charles looked up and bit his lip, wondering how Erik had been strong enough to push past all this trauma and lead a life so gratifying.

The table quivered one last time and fell still.

“And then you came,” Erik said, squeezing Charles’ hand tightly.  “And I've never felt so happy.  Hank said you were a mutant too.”

Charles sat there, completely stunned.  Slowly, he nodded.  “I am,” he whispered.  “We’re more alike than you think.”

Charles got up unsteadily and excused himself, saying he was going to the bathroom.

He did.  

Charles gazed into the mirror as if his double held answers, but they were just as mute as he was.

_Is it right for me to complete my mission?_ He asked himself.  

_Of course it’s right.  You're preventing a war,_ another part of him answered.

_That's probably what Erik thinks he's doing._

_But it is right.  The Western Bloc is already too powerful.  Leverage is the only way to maintain security._

_A standoff between the east and west is the only way._

_But can I do it?_ Charles wondered.   _Is it right to change him?  Is it right to like to someone who has already lost too much?_

His mind, ever logical, presented him with the facts.  He wasn't changing Erik permanently.  That was impossible.  Minds cannot be changed, only persuaded, and if it was something the person would not usually do, _such as allow the Soviets to level the field_ , Charles thought, _well then he wouldn't take the suggestion to heart and act upon it himself.  He'd only be doing it because I would be controlling him.  I'd have to be manipulating him almost constantly._

And the Soviets wanted lasting change.  That could only be done if Erik accepted his suggestions.  He would have to persuade him not to go to Cuba, not force him.  

_No resistance_ .   _Complete compliance._

Anything he did to Erik was reversible.  That was a fact.  And as for the lying…

Charles lip trembled, and he bit down on it.  Hard.

_It's too late to take it all back.  I've been lying from the beginning._

There was blood in his mouth.

_I_ will _tell him the truth._

_In the end._

Charles steeled himself.  This was the perfect opportunity.

He took a deep breath and walked confidently out of the bathroom.

 

\---

 

Erik was sitting just where he'd left him, swirling wine in his glass.  

Slowly, Charles crept up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He felt Erik's mind shift focus, and Charles used the distraction to slip into the other’s mind without his noticing.  

Charles could have done it without the distraction, he was subtle enough, but he couldn't afford any mistakes.

Charles sat down at the small table, shifting his chair so that it was next to Erik's rather than across from it.

“You look very tired,” Charles said with a small laugh, ever so slightly suggesting it.

Erik looked at him, blinking a few times.  He yawned.

“I think you should take a rest.  After all, I've put you through a lot, haven't I?”

Erik frowned, but nodded.

“Let's go inside.  There's bound to be a couch in there.”

Charles mentally led Erik into the café, which had several couches around coffee tables instead of tables like outside.

He sat Erik down on one of them, then mentally ordered the staff not to bother them or take any notice of them.

“Goodness, you're so tired.  Why don't you lie down,” Charles intoned.  

Erik obeyed, albeit a little slower than Charles would've liked.

Charles went over to the bar and pulled a stool over to the armrest where Erik had lain his head.

Erik had his arms folded over his abdomen, like he was in the therapist’s office scene of a very low-budget film.

On the wooden stool, Charles loomed over Erik.

“Just relax,” he said calmly.  “And…sleep” he ordered, placing a hand on Erik's forehead.

Erik's eyelids closed and Charles saw his shoulders slacken and his breathing slow.  Asleep, and he'd barely had to lift a finger.

Charles ran his hands through the hair on either side of Erik’s head, proximity would only make his work easier, until his fingers just behind the ears.

His hair, Charles thought.  It was soft and warm, and-

No.  He would not go down that road… right now.

Charles shook himself.  He had a job to do.  He closed his eyes and poured his will into Erik's mind.

Charles barred himself from Erik’s less recent memories, not wanting to be distracted by what he didn't need to know, and set to work.

He examined Erik, mentally speaking.  

He had a fierce protectiveness of all mutants, burned into him by prior trauma.  Charles could guess what that was.

He wanted to see mutants succeed.

Charles realized that that's why Erik had gone to the Americans.  “Opportunity” wasn't it?  

And mutants had more specialized skills.  Unique skills even, that could be in high demand.   _And for a high price_ , Charles thought.

_Alright_ , Charles thought, having gauged Erik's personality.  

Now, Charles let himself sift through Erik's recent memories, mentally jotting down notes.

_He knew I was a mutant_ , Charles noticed, _even before I said it._

He dug further down until he found memories of Erik’s recruitment for Cuba.  

It was to be a small team, only about eight people tops, the people at the very least.  

Charles probed Erik to discover what he had planned.  

_Interesting_ , he thought, as plans surfaced to the forefront of his friend’s mind.

Erik had never seriously considered recruiting new mutants.  He'd been planning to use his group of friends and coworkers all along.

_It's too dangerous,_ Charles thought to him, imitating the intensity of Erik’s natural thoughts, trying to make him abort the mission.   _Your friends and many other mutants could die,_ he thought, preying on Erik’s weaknesses.  

Charles felt Erik’s head twitch against his hands, as if the sleeping man were trying to shake off a fly.

Damn.  Why wasn't it working?  Charles thought privately.  He pressed Erik for answers, until-

_But won't so many more die if we don't?_

Charles bared his teeth.  Erik actually thought that he was doing the right thing?  Charles cursed silently.  Of course, he could _make_ Erik abort the mission, but eventually his mind would reject the new idea and he would realize he was being manipulated.

The mission to Cuba was like an immovable beam to the house of Erik’s mind.  If Charles removed it, the house would collapse.

It also went against Charles’ way of doing things.  Subtle, silent, from behind the scenes and without leaving a trace.

The backup plan, then.

_You know Charles is a mutant,_ he thought to Erik.   _You'd trust him as much as anyone.  Why not let him come with you?_

Erik's mind accepted the idea.  Charles sighed.  “I'm sorry, old friend,” he said.  “You can wake up whenever you want…”

Charles was extremely reluctant to pull himself from Erik's mind.  It was so familiar, like a favorite song he hadn't played in years.

The rhythm of Erik's thoughts were so oddly comforting…

Charles was unaware that he had drifted forward so that his face was directly over Erik's.   _Close enough to…_

  His fingers felt so nice, running through the other man's hair.  

Having barely slept the night before, Charles drifted off to sleep.  He slumped, nestling his head in the crook between Erik's neck and shoulder.  

Charles let a sleepy smile flicker across his lips as he heard Erik's heartbeat.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-_

And Charles was asleep.

 

\---

 

Erik regained consciousness slowly, lifting out of warm sleep like a feather on the wind.

He was on a comfortable sofa, he noticed, as his eyes fluttered open.

Something moved against his neck, the rhythmic in and out of breathing.  Erik, still half asleep, wasn't bothered by this.

A soft lock of hair fell across his cheek and he felt a small twitch from behind his head.

Grudgingly, Erik tried to sit up, but found he couldn't.

Blinking again, Erik looked down and saw the back of Charles’ head resting on his chest.

He had the strongest urge to run his hands through Charles’ childishly long hair.  He reached out a hand.

_Wait_ .  He jerked his hand away.  No.  There were _people_ watching.  No.  What was he doing?

Ever so gently, Erik eased himself out from under Charles, cradling the small man’s head and laying it down on the sofa.

He stood up and nearly laughed.  Charles looked like the victim in a murder mystery novel.  He was bent over the sofa’s squishy armrest, hands underneath his chest, facedown.

Erik looked out the dark window, at which he realized that they were still at the little café.

He'd told Alex to pick him up at seven.

Leaving Charles spread out on the couch, Erik walked over to the bar where a tall man polished the glasses.  

“Do you have the time?” Erik asked.

The man stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring him.

Erik repeated the question.  Then again. Extremely annoyed, he walked around the restaurant, looking for a clock.

He found one just outside the restrooms on a drawer next to some lilac flowers.  

It showed the time to be quarter past six.

Erik returned to the couch that Charles was sprawled over and took pity on him.  Erik pulled him all the way onto the couch and flipped him over so that he was lying on his back.

Erik shamelessly stared at Charles’ face.  He didn't understand how the thin man had such long eyelashes and such colourful lips.  

He sat down on the sofa’s remaining space, and finding himself not having enough room, Erik raised Charles’ head so that it rested on his lap.

Erik's eyes darted around the room to see if anyone was watching.  The man he had tried talking to earlier was now wiping down the bar, not looking at them.

For a few minutes, Erik could only think of how bad this might look to anyone who saw them.  Then he thought about how this was the second time he had done something this open, the first being when he and Hank had accidentally gotten lost in the rain while they were in-

No no no.  He did _not_ need that trip down memory lane.

Erik sighed, and tried to get his mind off that particular incident.

What had he and Charles been talking about again?

Erik looked down at the other man's face.  While looking closely at his eyelashes, Erik spotted something caking around Charles teas ducts.  Salt.  Had Charles been crying?

Then it came back to him, and his face fell.  They'd been talking about Auschwitz.

Erik rubbed his mouth.  He'd told Charles everything.  His fingers twitched.  

Just thinking about thinking about it was enough to send him shaking with fury.

He pulled a coin out of his pocket and twirled it a few centimeters over his fingers.

Erik managed a small smile which lasted for only an instant.  It would never happen again, he told himself.  They couldn't take away his power and he would never, ever be able to hold him down again.

Something screeched outside.  Erik was shocked out of his reminiscences, but dimly realized that only Alex’ car would ever make that noise.

Sure enough, Erik could see the agonizingly bright headlights through the restaurant window.

He carefully slipped Charles’ head off his lap and stood up.  Then he looked back.  

Charles didn't say he had anyone coming to pick him up.  Plus, Erik thought, he couldn't just leave him there.  What if he woke up to find Erik gone?

And…

 

If Charles was a mutant, like he and Hank had guessed, then wouldn't he be useful to bring on the mission to Cuba?

Erik hesitated.  The idea had slipped into his head fully formed and perfect.  For a long moment he stood completely stock still.

Then he walked back to Charles, scooping him up in his arms.

 

\---

 

Alex wasn't all too surprised when Erik emerged from the café holding someone unconscious.  

Alex knew that Erik could out-drink almost anyone.  

“Who is that?”  He asked, once Erik had lain whoever it across the backseat.

“The professor from last night,” Erik said, climbing into the front seat and shutting the door.  “Drive gently,” he added.  Then, “to the house.”

Alex shrugged, and drove _normally_ out of the little courtyard.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wrote this chapter on my phone, but I nonetheless really enjoyed writing the later parts of it (the actual cherik). I am still 1000% not sorry for making Alex into an epic driver.


	6. Opportunity and Disaster

Charles' eyes flicked open.  That was the only warning anyone else had to know that he was awake.  His breathing was still slow, matching his heart rate.  Although he seemed a paradigm of calm, his mind was on high alert.

  
Then he saw the light blue ceiling and was able to draw reasonable conclusion.

  
_This isn't my room_ , Charles thought indignantly.

  
Then he tried to get up but found he couldn't.  His heart rate leapt up.  He'd been captured, that's what must have happened, he thought, trying to free himself from the covers that he was sure were tied down.

  
He managed to free himself and leapt to his feet.

  
If Charles hadn't been so paranoid, he would have realized that his difficulty in getting out of bed was caused by a very careful someone snugly tucking him in the night before.

Charles looked down at himself.  He was dressed in a white shirt that was too large for him, with trousers that drooped over his feet, almost long enough to pose a serious threat injury by causing him to trip.

  
Charles scanned the room feverishly, looking for anything that might serve as a weapon.  

  
There was absolutely nothing of use.  However, on the desk on the other side of the bed, he spotted his grey shirt and brown jacket, slung over the back of the chair.  He leaped across the bed as silently as he could and grabbed his clothes.  His dark trousers were folded neatly on the chair seat.

  
He pulled off the large clothes and tossed them on the bed.

  
Good God, they'd changed his underwear, Charles observed in mixed admiration and horror.

   
He'd once known a Russian spy that kept a razor in her underwear in case she was captured.  It had never failed her.  He'd known her to pick locks with it but he also remembered when she'd  run out of bullets and used a poisoned razor blade shot from a blowgun to assassinate someone.

  
Whoever his captors were, they were professional.  

  
Charles rummaged through his pockets, although he hadn't expected anything useful to still be there.

  
Through his telepathy, he felt five minds downstairs.  He dared not investigate further, as people often brought a telepath to interrogation sessions when they were dealing with another telepath.  

  
That wouldn't be a problem if he could sneak up on them.  He was reasonably confident that given enough time, he could overwhelm all of them, even if they were _all_ full telepaths.

  
He checked the drawers on the opposite wall of the bed.  Clothes.

  
Charles gently eased the door open, careful not to make a sound.  Then he crept down the hallway, cursing its creaky wooden flooring for slowing his progress.  
He reached a set of spiral stairs and crept down them, thankful that he hadn't put on his socks, because the polished wooden stairs were oddly slanted and slippery.  
He peeked out from the stairwell.  In front of him was a living room with three mismatched sofas shaped in a 'U' around a glass coffee table in front of a fireplace.    
He could faintly hear murmurs of conversation coming from behind the door on the left of the living room.  

  
He peered over to the right.  There was the front door.  Right there.

   
He nearly snuck over to it, but something stopped him.

   
Charles was a professor, which meant he was curious to the point where it seriously threatened his health.  

  
It also made him an excellent spy.

  
Charles wrenched his eyes away from the door with the voices.  Ohhhhh it was almost too tempting.

  
He stepped down the last stair.

Charles was saved the trouble of choosing whether or not to stay and learn about his captors as the door on the left opened.

He stared at the young woman, and the young woman stared right back.

Both were extremely shocked and froze for a whole second before Charles extended his consciousness to hers.

He didn't outright seize control, which was what his paranoia was screaming for him to do, but he lengthened her hesitation a little longer so that he was right on top of her by the time she thought to move.  

Charles was no stranger to situations where he had limited use of his powers.  Over the years he had worked for with his then-unknown employers, he had been forced to work with people who had taught him enough mixed martial-arts to floor ten opponents by himself.

They had not, however, taught him enough to be able to floor the woman now standing in front of him.

Charles' leg flicked out to smack her in the ribs.

Rather than being thrown to the side, the woman in front of him darted in closer so that Charles's thigh merely brushed up against her.

She grabbed his wrists, and was about to sling him over her shoulder and throw him to the ground when Charles wrapped his legs around her.

The awkward piggy-back didn't last for long.  The moment she felt what he was doing, the young lady threw herself backwards, hoping to crush the air out of Charles' lungs as she sandwiched him between herself and the ground.

Thankfully, Charles had done something similar before, and threw himself off her just in time.  He hadn't remembered that she was still firmly grasping his wrists.    
So he cheated, and implanted the sensation that she had sprained her wrist.  She still did not let go.

The woman landed on the floor and tugged at his hands, pulling him on top of her.  

Charles was tempted to headbutt her, but at this angle he didn't want to risk a concussion.

Then, she kneed him in the groin and he rolled off her, cursing.

"Erik, I think your friend's awake," Raven called, getting to her feet.

There was the sound of chairs' legs scraping against the floor, and on the ground, Charles could see four pairs of legs enter the room.

He flipped over onto his back and nearly swore.

Erik, Hank, Frost and Summers were standing over him.  Summer's was clutching a bowl of what seemed to be cereal.

"Oh."  Charles said.  "Hello."

He looked into everyone's faces.   _So that would make her_ , he thought of the woman, _Miss Raven Darkhölme_.

Charles got uneasily to his feet.

"We were just talking about you," Erik said, leading him through the door and into the kitchen.

"Good things, I hope?"  Charles said, a small smile playing about his lips even though every nerve in his body was telling him to mentally overpower everyone here and get the hell out.

Erik laughed.  "Here," he said, shoving a piece of buttered toast under his nose, "Eat."

Charles reluctantly bit into the toast, which tasted delicious.  He turned to his 'captors'.

"Why am I here, exactly?" He asked.  There was no polite way to ask it really.

"Well, we were wondering," Erik began, but then from a look at Raven, he amended, " _I_ was wondering if you could help us with a little errand for the US government."  
Charles lounged back in his chair.  Well at least something good would come out of this, he thought.  "And what sort of errand would this be?  Would you be getting groceries for the President?"

To his left, Raven rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Already done."  Charles didn't know if she was joking or not.  
"More like shoplifting uranium for the President," Erik said, "in a grocery store full of nuclear missiles where all the staff are trying to kill you."

There was a long stretch of silence.

"Oh dear," was all Charles could think to say.  "And you need me for...?"

"Your powers.  And because we can't trust anyone else," Erik said bluntly.

Charles frowned.  "What makes you think I'm a- oh.  Yesterday."  He sighed it was all coming back to him.  "I did tell you, didn't I," he said with a little grin.

Erik beamed.  "So you'll help?"

Charles bit his lip, as if seriously torn.  "I...suppose so..." He said, "but, my mutation- it-"

Erik cast a concerned frown at Charles.  "It's alright Charles.  We're all mutants here.  You can tell us anything."

Charles bit his lip.  He really was stuck in a corner.  They would not take well to hearing that he was psychic.

"My mutation-  It," Charles lowered his head.  "I'm not proud of it at the moment.  It's hurt a lot of people, and that's all I feel I can tell you."   _Good job, Charles_ , a small, sarcastic piece of him said, _that was the most truthful thing you’ve said all day._

It seemed Erik and his friends had been through something similar, as they didn't press him on it.

Hank cleared his throat.  "Well, um, shall we introduce ourselves?"

Charles looked up from the half eaten toast on his plate.  

The others had sat down around the round table, and Hank was sitting directly opposite him.  

Charles looked around the table at everyone.  Frost was staring at him oddly, as if trying to match a name to a face.

Was there something in his teeth?

"My name is Hank McCoy," Hank said, then hurriedly, "but you already knew that."  He grinned.  "And my mutation gives me super-strength, increased speed and reaction time and I have extremely sensitive smell," he rattled off.  "But I turn blue and get bigger," he added, embarrassed.

Before Charles could comment, Frost began, "I'm Emma Frost, just call me Emma.  I can turn into diamond, which gives me super strength and invulnerability," she said in a dull voice.  She didn't mention telepathy.

Charles' eyes narrowed.  Why hide it?  Unless she suspects me, he thought.

He didn't have time to dwell on it because now Raven was speaking.

"I'm Raven.  I can shape-shift into anyone and I can also heal from injuries quicker.  It's not a power of mine, but I'm also a good fighter," she said.  "And I'm sorry for kicking your testicles.  I know it hurts," she added.

Charles gave her a pained smile.  "I'm fine.  Really.  I just need rest."

Hank got to his feet.  "I can take you downstairs to the lab if you want.  It's where we keep the first aid and painkillers, if you need them."

Charles laughed, about to say that _he really was fine_ , but then a particularly nasty twinge below the belt made him reconsider.

"Maybe I could use a painkiller," he said.

Hank jerked his head sideways and Charles followed him down a set of stairs at the side of the kitchen.

"Yesterday, I asked Erik to ask you a question about how telepathy works but he said he never got the chance to," Hank said, pushing against the walls on either side so as not to trip.

Charles shook his head, then remembered that Hank was in front and couldn't see him.  "No, I don't think he did."

"Well, would you happen to know if the connection of two minds using telepathy happens using waves?"

Charles was astonished.  If he gave the answer Hank was looking for, then he was sure what question Hank would ask next.  "My my, Hank, you're bright," he said, completely truthfully, although he was just playing for time.

The other man snorted, and pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs.

The lab-infirmary combination was a high ceilinged white walled room with a sick bed on one side and three cots stacked underneath it.  There was also a surgeon's operating table.  

Charles glanced to the door on the far right side of the room.  How big was this house, exactly?

"To answer your question," Charles said, in private resignation, "a telepath does 'connect' through waves, but the strength of a telepath does not equal the strength of the wave, although strong telepaths can reach further, meaning the waves are stronger or more efficient."  

Charles was sickened at his own secrets pouring from his mouth, but the professor in him would not let him shut up until the topic was sufficiently explained.  

"The wave," he continued, "is merely the connection.  Everything else that happens telepathically is a matter of cunning and strength of will."

Charles neglected to mention that at a close enough range, waves became irrelevant due to sheer proximity.

A devious smirk had crept onto Hank's face.  "So," he said, his next question obviously rhetorical, "if one were to disrupt these waves, then the connection wouldn't occur, right?"

Damnit Hank McCoy, Charles cursed, why do you have to make my job so hard?  Charles gazed at the other man's excited face.

"Yes."

Hank walked over to the door on the right and opened it to reveal another room with a workable in the middle, pieces of scrap metal lying haphazardly all over the place.

Charles hesitantly followed Hank inside.

"Sorry about the mess.  I keep telling Erik to clean up, but he says it would be so easy to clean up that he might as well not."

Charles let out a breath of air in a quiet laugh.  Then his face slackened as he saw what Hank had pulled from under the table.

A large, metallic helmet sat there.  Charles was mortified to see a battery pack hooked up to it, although after a moment's examination he realized it was not a threat.   
"I know this only works a bit, but I can't nail down the correct way to make the wave so that it reflects a psychic one," Hank said in frustration, "but I think I know a way around that, especially if Erik agrees to help."

Charles couldn't imagine how telekinesis would help make a psion-reflective helmet, but he let Hank continue.

"The Russians beat us to that," he said sadly, but then brightened as he went on, "but I think I've come up with an idea almost as good."  
Hank pulled out another helmet, although this one was only metal in a few places, and cords ran out of its back, as if it needed a lot more power than was in a measly battery pack.

"This one," Hank said, patting it fondly.

"Magnifies psions..." Charles said in absolute wonder, not needing to be psychic to work it out. 

He looked at Hank and a wild grin burst across his delicate features.  He stepped forward and grabbed the sides of Hank's shoulders in excitement.  "Do you know what this means?" He exclaimed, a little laugh escaping him.

"More range for a telepath," Hank said slowly, after getting over his initial shock of his role model holding him so close.    He was slowly beginning to smile.    
Charles spun Hank around, practically hopping with mad joy.  "Obviously it needs a lot of work done, the fields in the helmets are all completely wrong, but this idea!"  

Charles bared his teeth in a hungry smile, half joy, half concealed envy.

He had never tried to boost his range before.  He'd never needed to, but _oh_ how he wished _he'd_ been the one to have come up with this idea.

"Hank, you are absolutely _brilliant_ ," he said, pulling himself closer to the man's face until their foreheads rested against each other.  He took a breath.

In theater, there is a certain distance the actors maintain to fill up the stage, otherwise, the whole play just looks wrong to the audience.    
However.  When two actors reach a certain proximity, their faces a few inches apart, there are only two things an actor can do.  

One is to kiss, and the other is to fight.

Unfortunately, both men felt they had a duty to Erik, and the moment ended before either one could reconsider.

"You are absolutely _brilliant_ ," Charles repeated, this time in a whisper.

He gently lowered his arms and they stood looking at the helmet for a silent minute.

"Uhm, right.  Pills," Hank said, breaking the silence that was stretching into awkward territory.

"What?  Oh yes," Charles said, remembering.

Hank left the room, and Charles followed, taking more notice of the little wires and pieces of broken machinery.  He still felt very giddy at Hank's idea.  
The doctor slipped open a drawer in the desk and brought out some pills.  He offered one to Charles, making casual small talk.   
Hank offered him some water to go with the pills but Charles just dry-swallowed them without a second thought.

Then, they went upstairs, where, Hank told Charles, Erik would finally be telling them about his plan for Cuba.

 

\---

 

While Charles and Hank had been downstairs, Emma and Raven had both been beating some reason into Erik.

"Look.  I don't care how much of a good friend he was when you were six," Emma said with dispassionate reason, "That's no reason to have blind faith in him now."   
She started listing off reasons why they shouldn't bring Charles on the mission.  "First off, you and Hank are the only ones who trust him, and I wouldn't trust him further than-"

She paused.  Both she and Raven could in fact throw people a lot further than was normal. 

"I wouldn't trust him with a butterknife," she amended.  "Two, he didn't tell us his power, meaning he doesn't trust us."

Raven interrupted Erik's interruption before it could happen.  "Look.  I know you were good friends.  But Hank showed me his file on Charles and he's been on and off the radar for years," she said, slightly calmer than Emma.  "Twenty years is a long time, Erik.  Charles could have changed."

Erik gritted his teeth.  "What are you suggesting," he said.  "That Charles is the enemy?  A spy?"

Raven shrugged.  "He's a better fighter than you, Erik.  Almost as good as Hank," she said dryly.

"And something bothers me about him," Emma said, tapping her temple,  "I'm sure it has something to do with my-"

The basement door opened, and Erik glared daggers at the two of them as they acted as if they'd just been eating breakfast.

"So Erik," Charles said, "Hank said you had some sort of plan."

Emma glanced sideways at Erik, as if saying, _see what I mean?_ _  
_

Erik pointedly ignored her.

"Yes.  The President wanted me to recruit mutants for this mission, but what with the recent attack-"

Charles raised his hand like a student.  

"Um, yes, Charles?"

"What attack?" The thin man asked.

Hank answered for him.  "About two weeks ago, a telepath attacked Erik.  He had to stay in bed for three days, and that's saying something," Hank said, "but we think that the telepath was probably a Soviet who figured out that we were in charge of this Cuba operation."

Charles nodded slowly, taking it all in.   _I landed Erik in bed for three days?_ He felt angry at himself.   _Why am I the one who always ruins everything?  My power is supposed to_ stop _this from happening._ _  
_

"Anyway," Erik said after Hank had explained, "the attack made me realize that recruiting unfamiliar mutants was the wrong way to go about it, so I was going to ask all of you to help me."  Erik looked around the table.  

Everyone, including Charles nodded their heads in solemn agreement.

Erik relaxed.  "Good," he said, relieved.  "For the first stage of the plan, we're going to need to get into the country undetected.  Hank-"

"I thought you'd never ask.  I'll have the jet ready in a month, if you'll let me go to the warehouse."

"Phase two is infiltrating the facilities where they're keeping the missiles and stealing them."

Charles almost volunteered for infiltration, but then realized that it would just make him look more suspicious.

"I've got the infiltration part," Raven said.

Erik nodded.  "Once you've shut down their security, Emma, Alex and I will break in."  Erik laughed.  "I'm sure we won't be able to avoid a fight, so you two will have to take care of the people who come after us,” he said looking at Alex and Emma, “while I get the uranium into the plane, which will be hovering above-"

Charles raised his hand.  

"Yes Charles?"

"Did you just say the plane is going to hover?" he asked, sure he'd misheard.

Hank leaned sideways.  "I made a few updates," he whispered gleefully.  "And added some vertical thrusters."

Erik cleared his throat.  "If they fail for some reason, I'll can use my powers."

 _His telekinesis is that strong?_  Charles admired.

"Have a little faith, Erik," Hank pouted.

"During phase three," Erik continued, as if nothing had happened, "we will be stealthing back to the warehouse in New York, where hopefully we can get rid of the uranium in a power plant or something, although that's up to Kennedy."

Charles wanted to scream in frustration.   _Why would they use the uranium in a power plant?  How could Erik even think that?  Obviously, Kennedy was going to authorize the creation of more missiles.  How could his friend be so blind?_ _  
_

Emma spoke up.  "And what'll Charles be doing?"

Erik stared back at her.  Charles sensed something between them, some disagreement, that much was sure, but he dared not check closer with his telepathy.  He still didn't know how proficient Emma was.

"We will figure that out once Charles feels comfortable with his powers.  If he doesn't by September, he can run communications," Erik said reluctantly.

Emma seemed satisfied.  Indeed, a grim and determined smile crossed her lips, as if she had figured something.

 _So you_ don't _fully trust him.  Wise move_ , she thought to Erik. 

He imagined himself rolling his eyes, knowing that Emma could see.  Now get out of my head, Erik thought. 

Charles looked at both of them, confused.

Erik turned back to everyone.  "That's all I have to say right now."

Hank stood up.  "I can go and finish up the work on the jet tomorrow, if you'd like," he said.  

Erik nodded, running a hand through his hair.  "That would be great," he said.

He turned to Charles.  "If it's alright with you Hank, can Charles sleep in your room while you're away?" he asked.

"Go ahead," he said.  "I'll go pack my things first though," he finished, putting down his cereal and getting up.

One by one, the rest of the team left the kitchen.  

Emma explained she needed to catalogue everything Erik had just said, and followed Hank upstairs.

Erik made some excuse, probably he had to go make more detailed plans, but even with his feeble telepathy Charles could tell he wanted to talk to Emma.

Alex explained he needed to practice his mutation, so he slipped up to his room.

Then it was just him and Raven.

She rolled her eyes as Alex went upstairs.  "He's probably individually popping popcorn kernels," she sighed, moving her spoon in circles around the cereal bowl. 

"His power is popping popcorn?" Charles laughed.

Raven laughed.  "No, he can shoot energy blasts."  She shrugged.  "He keeps trying to do smaller and smaller things.  Next time he'll probably try and cut a single hair in half or something."

Charles laughed again, and the conversation lulled.

"You're a pretty good fighter," Raven said after a full minute of staring into her bowl.

"I had a ruthless teacher," Charles said wryly. 

"I know the type," she replied with a small smirk of her own.  Hank was usually the only person she could talk to about fighting, since she'd taught him how to defend himself before they'd met Erik, since his power didn't make him invulnerable like Emma's.

"We should fight again sometime," Charles said idly.  "I'd love to learn how to move like you do."  
Raven wasn't sure if he was asking for advice or for sex.

"What was that grip you used on my hands?" he asked, offering them to her so that she could demonstrate.

It seemed he was being serious.  She showed him how she wrapped her fingers around his wrist.  

Charles tried to break free and found he couldn't.  "Interesting," he muttered, peering closer.

"We could fight now, if you want.  To be honest, I'm not as good with throws as I am with kicks."

"Sadly I am incapable of fighting a fair fight if you're going to be my opponent," Charles chuckled.

Raven shrugged.  "It's all the same to me," she said, flashing him a rare smile.

Charles looked around.  "Where do you usually spar?" he asked.

She sighed.  He had touched a nerve.  "The lab," she said.  "Usually it's just me and Hank.  Alex can practice in his room, Emma doesn't even need self defense since she can turn into a living diamond for God's sake, and frankly Erik is a master of his power."  She paused.  "I didn't think that anyone could take him down, actually, until that telepath showed up."

Charles was stunned.  "You practice in the lab?  But that place is tiny," he exclaimed.

He bit his lip.  "Look," he began.  "Why don't you all come out to New York and stay at my place.  I have more space than I know what to do with, and it would be a perfect place to hide from this telepath, if they haven't already left the country."

Raven looked at him skeptically.  She didn't trust him, but Charles' ideas made too much sense to ignore. 

"Let's ask Erik over lunch," she said.

Charles nodded in agreement.

 

\---

 

  
To everyone's surprise but his own, Erik agreed.

It would help everyone get into practice, especially since they could practice using their abilities without attracting any notice.

To Charles’ even greater surprise, Erik suggested, no, _ordered_ was more like it, to pack their things and _yes, they were leaving now_.  
Charles watched in awe as everyone rushed around packing.  

Alex was the first one ready, hefting a medium sized bag into the boot of their car.

Raven came next, with a small handbag clutched in her hands.

“What about clothes?” Charles asked, pointing at it.

“I'm a shapeshifter.  I don't need clothes.  These are just toiletries,” she said, opening the bag to show him a tube of toothpaste and a collapsible hairbrush.

“That's a useful mutation to have,” Charles began, already thinking of about a hundred different questions.  Raven’s mutation would be wonderful to study, he thought.  “So you can create different materials… but where does the material come from?  If I took your coat, and you changed form, would the coat disappear?  Does your mass always stay the same?”

Raven started laughing.  “You sound just like Hank!” she said slapping the kitchen table.  “He asked me about my mass the moment he discovered I was a mutant,” she said.  “I told him never to ask about a woman’s weight.”

Charles burst out laughing as Hank appeared in the kitchen door, clutching at the frame in a relaxed fashion, an incomplete psion helmet under his other arm.

“Erik’s got his clothes, so does Emma, and I've got mine, so I think we’re ready to get going,” he said to the two of them.

“Alright,” Raven said, slinging herself around the doorframe.

Charles took a last look at the place.  It was really nice and cozy.  He couldn't help but feel bittersweet, whether it was from what he was about to do to them, or whether he was wishing he could have been a part of it.

Charles stalked out of the house and into the feeble sunlight of a February afternoon.

“Wait,” he said, “there are six of us and the car can only fit five.”

A little girl of about seven peeked out over the top of a door.  “No need to worry about space, Charles,” she said.

“Is that-”

She giggled girlishly, then her face turned serious.  “Yes it's Raven.  Now get in the car,” she said.

It was disconcerting, being ordered about by a child, but then again, he thought with a smirk, that's what he’d done to his family.

Charles got into the back seat, sandwiched between Hank and Erik.  

Raven clambered clumsily onto Hank's lap, hissing something that sounded like a death threat if he made fun of her.

The moment the last seat belt had clicked in, Alex floored the accelerator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hah. Another one I wrote on my phone :/  
> This chapter was rather difficult to write, since Charles needed to find out so many things. I keep on forgetting to integrate Alex which is really bugging me, but I promise to be inclusive of my fictional son (one of many fictional children). I'm sorry once again if this chapter felt a bit repetitive because I really needed to get Charles onto the same page as the others (even though he's missing out on the biggest things).  
> Yarg thank you all for taking the time to read this though :D my heart goes out to you.


	7. X-Mas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HahahH, I hear you laugh. X-mas. Because it's like X-men and its in winter and I'm uploading this within six months of Christmas.   
> Terrible puns aside, here's the next part, picking up where we left off as Alex drives everyone to Charles’ house.

Almost immediately, Hank grabbed the doorframe, whispering a stream of curses that were lost in the wind as the car roared out of DC.

“I don't know why you're so fussed, Hank.  I mean, you test-fly a stealth plane every time we go to the warehouse.  You'd think-” he said, turning back to face Hank.

“Keep your eyes on the damn road!” Hank spat.

Alex rolled his eyes and looked forward.  “Erik’ll catch us if I mess up, right Erik?” He called to the backseat.

Erik laughed.  “You best hope I do,” he called back.

“Any chance of putting the hood up?” Infant-Raven yelled. 

“No!” Alex shouted, cackling as they increased speed. 

The wind whipped around them like a blizzard, minus the snow and ice.

Damn.  Even through his coat, designed for the Russian winter, Charles felt as if he were being impaled my needles made of ice.  

About ten minutes later, they burst out onto the highway.  They'd left the buildings far behind, meaning that there was nothing to shield them from the frigid air.

Emma grabbed Alex's shoulder.  “If you don't stop right now and put the hood up,” she yelled over the rush of wind, “I will  _ make  _ you!”

“I can't hear you over this wind!” Alex shouted back, increasing their speed, “What did you say?”

Emma let out a stream of curses, most of which were lost in the wind.

Charles, whose teeth were beginning to chatter, looked up at the sky, which had shifted from a startling blue to a thick and impenetrable grey.

A snowflake landed on his cheek.  Charles’ face was so cold that it took several seconds for the flake to begin melting.  

It was so cold that Charles could barely feel his legs.

Slowly, he wormed his way into Alex’s mind.  He suggested a small idea, a whisper even.  This car ride was going to be four hours long, after all.  Then he drew Alex’s attention to Emma.  Did Alex want to listen to her bickering for  _ four hours _ ?

Charles pulled most of his thoughts away from Alex, waiting for his suggestions to take affect.

Emma opened her mouth to deliver another stream of verbal abuse, but before she could, Alex jerked the steering wheel to the side and pulled up shortly by the side of the road.

When Alex slammed the brakes, everyone except he and Erik lurched forward.

Infant-Raven shouted something no child of seven should ever say.

Alex turned to Erik.  

“Mind doing the hood?” he asked.

Erik nodded and the hood pulled itself up over their heads.

Both Charles and Hank sighed in relief as the wind vanished, leaving them only somewhat freezing.

Alex and Emma rolled up their windows.  Raven and Erik did likewise.

Feeling now returning to his legs, Charles noticed with a start that his leg was pressed up against Erik’s.  As much as he wanted to move it, he found it impossible since there was no other space, since Erik’s and Emma’s bags were squashed next to his feet, since Alex and Hank had claimed the trunk.

Erik's leg was also warm.  Charles’ was not.

Alex pulled the car back onto the highway and they sped off.

Raven peered out of the window.  “Oh look.  Just in time,” she said, pointing out the window.  Charles leaned forward to look past her.  

It was really starting to snow.  Small, thin flakes whisked past the window like pelting rain.

No one else spoke for a while.

Alex sighed.  “Well I'm turning on the radio,” he said, fiddling with the dials on his dashboard.

There was a brief  _ whshhhh _ of static as Alex tried to find his favorite station, while simultaneously trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“Ha!” Alex said, overtaking the car in front of them and managing to flip to a station.  “This is the one,” he said, taking the steering wheel with one hand again.

Music started.  Obviously, Alex had flipped to the station that was in the middle of playing a song.

Charles listened.  He thought he recognized the singer, but not the song.  He was sure he'd heard the voice before, but not for a few years at least.  “This is….. Elvis, right?  I didn't think he'd stay popular for so long.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to stare at him in disbelief.  

“You're joking, righ-”

“ALEX LOOK WHERE YOU’RE DRIVING!” Hank shrieked.

Alex spun back to the road, and shifted lanes to avoid smashing into the back of the car in front of them.  He overtook it easily.

“Where have you been living for the past decade?” Alex asked in amazement. 

_ In deepest darkest Russia, _ Charles thought dryly.

“The last I heard of Elvis was  _ Hound Dog _ ,” Charles said, embarrassed.

“What a sad life you must live,” Alex said mockingly.

“A sad, yet interesting one, where I have no time for good music,” Charles said wistfully.

The last few bars faded away and were replaced by a soft ballad.

It was only when the singer began with, “I was alright...for a while…” did Hank tear his eyes from the countryside that raced past.  

“Alex, turn up the sound,” he ordered.

When Alex did not, Emma leaned forward and twirled the volume dial, muttering about how “immature” Alex was being today.

“But I saw you last night… You held my hand so tight… As you stopped to say hellooooo,” the singer continued.

Hank hummed along to it, hitting all the notes.

“I'm confused,” Charles whispered, leaning over Erik.  

“Wait until the song’s over,” Erik breathed out of the corner of his mouth.  “Hank takes his music very seriously.”

Charles sat through the song.  The singer’s voice was very operatic, and once he’d finished with, “Crying… Over you”, Charles looked at Hank.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Roy Orbison he’s-” Hank began.

“He has no soul,” Alex called from the front.  “And he can't dance!”

Hank leaned forward, Raven sliding from his knees and reached forward to the seat in front of him and mock-slapped Alex.

“Whoa, I thought you didn't want me to crash the car,” Alex said smugly.

“Roy Orbison has ten times the singing voice that Elvis does, and he puts all of his ‘soul’ into singing, not performing erotic dance moves-” Hank accused.

“Elvis served in the military, and if you don't think his voice is good then tell that to his millions of-”

“Sex!”  Hank exclaimed.  “It's like he goes to perform onstage and suddenly everyone has an orgasm!  And it doesn't help that he's so damn attractive,” he finished.

Alex snorted.  “It's called a concert.  If you actually went to one, then-”

The conversation went downhill from there, although Charles found it extremely entertaining to watch. 

He turned to Erik, who was also looking extremely amused.  “Your friends are the most delightful people I've ever met,” he chuckled.   _ Because before I met them, I only had the pleasure of meeting terrified Soviets. _

This made Erik smile. “I can't disagree,” he said.

Raven, who had slipped off Hank's lap as he had tried to pull himself into the front seat to throttle Alex, crawled over to get to Erik.

She accidentally kneed Charles in the groin again.  

Thankfully, she was light, which to Charles’ amazement meant that she could change her mass, and Charles had the strength of will not to cry out.

In the front, Emma had managed to separate Hank's hands from Alex’s shirt collar, although they were still bickering.

Charles peered through the gaps between the two front seats and out the window.  It was really starting to storm now.  Thick and thin flakes were pelting the windshield, the wipers managing to clear them off just in time for them to settle again.  

Erik yawned beside him.  

“Tired?” Charles asked casually.

Erik nodded.  “I fell asleep early yesterday, remember?”

Charles nodded with an internal wince.  That'd been when he'd manipulated Erik into letting him join the team.  

“Well,” Erik continued with a small shrug, “if I fall asleep and wake up, I find it difficult to get back to sleep.”

Charles look mortified.  “So you haven't slept at  _ all _ since last night?” he asked.

Erik smiled modestly.  “I managed to get to sleep at about four in the morning, but I woke up when Raven got back from buying coffee.”

“I already said I'm sorry,” Raven said from his lap with the voice of a child.

Charles briefly considered telling the half truth that his powers could make people tired but then realized that one, it would raise more questions than he was willing to answer, and two, it might be taken sexually, which would've been fine if it was just he and Erik and maybe even Hank as well (Charles wasn't sure about Hank).  

Charles mentally slapped himself as he tried to imagine himself saying,  _ my secret powers will make you tired _ .

“I'm still dead tired, but my brain won't let me sleep,” Erik said.

“Well, feel free to take a nap.  Car rides always put me to sleep.”  Car rides used to put him to sleep, Charles remembered.  Until he'd figured out that sleep left him vulnerable.

Charles didn't know he was doing it until Erik had leaned himself onto his shoulder.  Then he realized that he was gently imploring Erik’s subconscious to rest, to relax, to-

_ No. _  He was  _ not _ here to comfort Erik.  He was  _ not  _ going to influence him for selfish reasons.   _ This is a business trip.  Not a road trip with friends,  _ Charles repeated to himself.

“Sorry.  I guess I'm more tired than I thought,” Erik said.

Charles laughed despite himself.  “Just try and sleep,” he said, gently prying away Erik's inability to sleep with his mind.  

Charles told himself it was to gain Erik's trust, but that small rebellious part of him that was  _ incredibly  _ fond of the man on his right started celebrating.

The trick to it was doing it slowly.  Charles could make anyone go to sleep with the metaphorical ease of snapping his mental fingers, but the best kind of sleep was the slow kind.

As he gently lulled Erik into a state of perfect relaxation, Charles half noticed that Alex and Hank had lowered the volume of their bickering, Raven was staring listlessly out the window, and Emma was breathing onto the ice cold window and drawing on the foggy canvas it made.  All while some relaxing ‘greatest hits of 1961’, as the radio announcer put it, played softly in the background.

Charles couldn't help but feel Erik's body press against his, their legs were touching, and the taller man’s head rested against Charles’.

Their hands were also dangerously close.

The telepath could feel that Erik was hovering in that hazy state of mind in between sleep and wakefulness, where the voices are always gentle and the world is fuzzy and warm.

Charles allowed himself a little treat.  Although he couldn't use his powers on himself to fall asleep, he could slip into another person’s mind and, if he wanted to, feel what they were feeling.

Ever so gently, Charles’s consciousness flowed into Erik’s mind, and he could share the soft pleasure and warmth of the car rolling over small hills.  Charles was careful enough to be so gentle that Erik didn't notice his presence.

Charles purposefully blocked himself off from any deep emotions or thoughts Erik was thinking.  

Normally, Charles revelled in learning others’ secrets, but to listen in on Erik’s most private thoughts felt like a betrayal. 

Of course, this didn't stop Charles from listening to his surface thoughts.  Not to do so would be like giving up his ability to judge an emotion from a person’s facial expression.  It was just too precious to him, Charles thought.

As he and Erik unknowingly shared the feeling of falling asleep, Charles slumped against the larger man’s shoulder, head coming to rest in between his neck and shoulders.

With the rocking of the car, Charles felt himself actually start to drift off.  He didn't mind in the slightest.  Against all odds, Charles, surrounded by his enemies, felt completely at peace.

 

\---

 

“They fell asleep,” Raven whispered loudly to the rest of the car.  

“So do you think Charles… you know,” Alex said, smirking at the road, “prefers the company of men?”

Hank started grinning.  

Emma snorted.  “I don't need telepathy, because I have a mirror,” she said, pointing to the one fixed to the ceiling between her and Alex, “so I can tell you that Hank just got  _ very  _ hopeful.”

Hank blushed.  “Hey, Charles is my version of Alex’s Elvis,” he said.

Alex snorted.  “Yeah, and Elvis is taken.  You remember breakfast?” he asked, “Erik wouldn't shut up about Charles.”

Hank rolled his eyes.  He almost told them that he and the professor had nearly kissed, but stopped himself.  He didn't want to be mocked by the others.

“Honestly, I don't think he's a good influence on Erik,” Raven said.

“What makes you say that?” Alex asked, “he seems nice enough.”

“Yeah, but you can  _ fake _ being nice enough,” whispered Raven in her child's voice.  “And there's no denying there's something different about him.  Just remember.  He’s barely even heard of Elvis, which suggests he's been somewhere that's actively blocking America.  He won't tell us his power, he’s nearly on a fighting level with Hank-”

“Really?  Maybe we can spar toget-”

Raven barreled on in a whisper, “And you remember that first night when he brought back Charles’s collection of coins?  Most of it was in American currency, but the rest of it was in rubles.”

Hank frowned.  “So what?  You think he could be ‘the telepath?’” he asked, sarcastically sketching air quotes.

“Yes,” Raven whispered bluntly.

“Well then why hasn't he done anything yet?” Hank asked seriously.  “ _ If  _ he’s been into us for about three days, he knows our plan, he can see into all our heads and can cause us an unbearable amount of pain,” Hank reasoned, “then why are we still here?”

Raven said nothing.  You couldn't really say anything to that.  “Maybe something’s holding him back-”

“Well there's only one way to know for sure,” Alex said, deftly weaving between two lorries.  He turned to Emma.  “You've got to get inside his head.”

She blanched.  “Alex, you know how rude that is?  It's more rude than if you went to a secret mutant gathering in a flashing neon car, a fanfare, while being blue,” she turned to Hank.  “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“What I'm trying to say is that another person's mind is sacred to them.  It's their most private place.”

“Well the telepath wouldn't mind if he did it to you would he?” Raven muttered. 

Luckily for Raven, Emma couldn't look directly behind her to give her a death glare.

She closed her eyes and frowned.  Then she opened them.  “Can't concentrate,” she said simply.  “I'll do it when we get to his house.”

The conversation died. 

“So this weather,” Alex said, almost too casually.

“Nice,” Hank said, turning to peer out of the window.  

The countryside around the car was completely white.  Not that everything was blanketed in white, like back in DC, but Hank could only see a few dozen feet in any direction before there was so much snow in the air that everything beyond that just melted together into a brilliant bright white.

Occasionally, he would glimpse a thin dark shape amidst the snow fog, but it was always just a tree.

The visibility was so poor that Alex actually started to slow down.  

“Do you think you'll be able to read the roadsigns?” Hank asked. 

Alex peered into what would've been the gloom, if everything hadn't been glowing with reflected light.

“I can,” Emma said.  “Just keep you eyes on the road, Alex.  We don't want to stop until we get to Charles’ house.”

From the sleeping Erik’s lap, Raven asked, “Did you bring any food?”

Hank was about to smack his forehead and cry out,  _ Food!  That's what I forgot!  _ when Emma spoke up.

“I packed all the trail mix that we didn't finish last week,” Emma said, uncharacteristically kindly. “It should be in the top of my bag, if you can un-wedge it,” she informed Raven.

With quick fingers, Raven’s tiny hands managed to free Emma’s backpack from between Charles’ knees.

She fished around in the top compartment and brought out a whole bag of mix.  

“Is this the one with the chocolate?” she asked Emma, who laughed.

“Sugar, if it had chocolate chunks, do you really think we’d have so much left over?”

“Wait, there are sugared oat chunks,” Raven said excitedly, pulling out a clump of granola.

Hank sighed.

“How long do we have left?” he asked.

“Three hours and fifteen minutes-ish,” Alex said,  “but with the weather like this, it might be longer.”

Hank groaned and rested his forehead against the back of Alex’s seat.  “Well at least we won't die in a car crash now,” he said.

“Don't jinx it just because I'm going slow,” Alex said, making the car skid on the snow as he turned off an exit that Emma had just pointed out to him.  “Erik is asleep after all.”

After a few more minutes of silence. In which the only sound that could be heard was Raven munching on granola chunks, the seemingly small girl stretched, and sounding exactly like any other child of seven, she asked, “Are we there yet?”

“No,” Emma said. 

“I'm so bored,” moaned Raven a little while later.  “Why couldn't Erik just fly us there?”

“Because if he did then we’d look more conspicuous than Elvis and his pink Cadillac,” Alex replied.

Hank suggested that they play I-Spy, but after three turns of correctly guessing ‘snow’ on her first time Emma had had enough.

“Did anyone bring a book?” she asked.

“I have an essay on wavelength and someone’s doctorate on sound repressants, but I feel like that's not your genre,” Hank said, his voice muffled by Alex’s seat, that he now had his whole face pressed up against.

“You must be psychic,” Emma droned sarcastically.

“Well,” Alex said, changing the subject, “at least when we get snowed in at Charles’ house, we can have a snowball fight.  We could even make snow forts and split into teams and use our powers.”  

The others though about this for a second.

“Ok, you know we have to do this right?” Raven said a moment later.

Then after another brief pause, she added, “I call being on Emma’s team.”

“Me too,” Alex said. 

Hank groaned.

A long time passed in content silence as they listened to the radio and passed around the huge bag of trail mix, of which only the nasty nuts and partially squashed raisins were left.

At one point, Raven awkwardly clambered into the front seat to sit with Emma.  Hank was completely sure they were coming up with a strategy to completely destroy Hank's team.

Hank tried to bury his head in the back of Alex’s seat and try and get some sleep.  

 

\---

 

Erik was the first to wake up.  Dimly, through the warm haze of drowsiness, he that they were approaching a large deposit of metal that crisscrosses in an underground bunker.

They'd gotten to Charles’ house.

Erik really didn't feel like moving however.  The car was a heated metal bubble keeping them safe, and someone, Charles, he was sure, was leaning on him.

He considered that this was the second time in two days they'd fallen asleep together.  Throughout their childhood it had happened just the same.  Erik was glad that he and Charles hadn't changed all that much.

In fact, Erik would have been quite content to lie there for the rest of the day, surrounded by a protective cocoon of metal, if Alex hadn't pulled his signature stopping-the-car-just-before-it-was-too-late move.

Erik lurched forward, his seatbelt digging into his neck and chest, which saved him from smacking into the back of Emma’s seat.

To his left, Charles flew forward, only to be caught by his seatbelt.  The professor’s eyes flew open.  “Gaaaakkh,” he choked, massaging the spot where the seatbelt had cut into his throat.  “What a rude awakening,” he muttered in his posh accent.

Erik had to suppress a smirk.

Alex opened his door and a flurry of snowflakes roared in.

“Alex wait no-” Charles yelped as the icy air hit him.  “We have a garage…a place to park... I'll direct you there.” 

Alex closed the door and followed Charles’ finger-pointing directions around to a hidden part of the house to a gravel patch surrounded by old walls on three sides and sheltered by a sturdy overhang that was overgrown with dead creeper plants.  

Emma remarked that it wasn't much of a garage, to which Charles replied that if she wanted to get to the  _ real _ garage she could have fun walking all the way back to the mansion in the blizzard.

Erik braced himself for another gust of cold air, then opened the door.  Behind him, Charles swore.

They pulled out their bags, Raven helping Hank with all of his luggage, and dashed to the door that was also under the overhang.  

In Erik's opinion, it was just as fancy as the huge doors out front: dark wood, antique looking handle and all around it aged grey stone.

Charles rapped at the door loudly.  Then, growing impatient, entered the minds of one of the staff inside and implanted the sound of the knocking door and a nagging need to answer it.  He tried to be as subtle as he could in case Emma was watching but honestly he was too cold to take it slowly.

The boy opened the door hurriedly, and murmured a small “Sorry, Professor” when Charles stepped in, followed by five others.

Charles plucked the name from the boy’s mind.  “Hugo,” he said kindly.  “Would you mind running down to the kitchens and telling Miss Anne that we have guests for dinner?”

A grin split Hugo’s face.  Thank heavens the Professor wasn't angry at him.  He dashed away.

Charles helped Hank carry his things upstairs, while the others followed, carrying their own, smaller bags.

“I had to bring everything from the lab,” Hank explained, “since we won't be going back for a while.”

It was a good thing the mansion had a dozen or so guest bedrooms, Charles thought as he pointed out where all of them could sleep.  His own rooms were on the other side of the floor, overlooking the gardens.

He helped everyone settle in, then brought them all downstairs for dinner.  

They sat in the dining hall that Erik and Hank had sat at before, with its tall windows looking out over the dark grounds.  Since it was so dark, it was hard to make out shapes, but the swirling pattern of snow against the window was the only view they needed.

The cook, Mrs. Anne, as she bade everyone call her, brought out steaming bowls of noodle soup that everyone slurped happily as they stared out at the snow now beginning to pile against the bottom of the window.

Mrs. Anne explained that she had sent most of the staff home because of the weather.  Charles didn't mind.

“Snowball fight,” Alex said in between mouthfuls.  “Tomorrow.  I'm on Emma and Ravens’ team.”

Charles grinned.  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.  Why the hell was he doing this anyway.  There was no point getting friendly, he'd been telling himself,  _ you're just going to betray them _ , he knew, but somehow he just couldn't stop himself. 

It was like having a proper family.

Hugo whisked away all the bowls when they were done.

“That,” Emma said, “was actually very nice.”

“What she means,” Raven explained, “is that the soup was delicious.  Thanks Mrs. Anne, from all of us.”

The grandmotherly lady who had held the door open for Hugo to get the plates smiled.  “Thank you darlings,” she said.

Erik yawned.

“I thought you wouldn't be able to sleep after the car ride,” Charles said playfully.  

“I won't, but this place makes me feel like I'm about to be tucked into bed by my mother,” Erik said as he stared out the window.

Charles let him have a moment to his own thoughts, even his surface ones, then he turned to the rest of his guests.

“I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted,” Charles lied.  

Hank laughed.  “At least you got some sleep.  How do you think the rest of us feel?”

Charles shrugged, making a gesture with his hands that communicated,  _ you got me. _  “Well,” he continued, “off to bed?” he suggested.

For once, he was met with no resistance, not even from Emma.

They filed upstairs in a sloppy line, and once they reached their rooms, all of them except Charles fell messily on their beds, not bothering to undress.

Charles stayed awake for far too long before drifting off.  Tomorrow, he'd be in the middle of a snowball fight, rather than trying to prevent American world domination.

What had Erik done to him?  Why'd he have to go and screw with Charles’ feelings right when it mattered.

Why did Erik have to be just as loveable as he'd been twenty years ago?

_ Oh, the questions of the universe, _ Charles thought, mind unwittingly drifting to the angles of Erik's face and the smile that could light up half the world.

_ No, don't think about that.  Think of Emma.  Frost.  Whatever.  How are you going to get past her? _

Charles rolled over.  The answers were always too easy.   _ Just manipulate her _ .  

That always seemed to be the answer.  Ever since he'd gotten his power, everything had been making people do what he let them do, even if he hadn't actually used his powers.

He thought of Erik again.   _ Damnit.  Shut up,  _ he told himself.   _ I am  _ not  _ going to feel guilty about being myself.  My manipulative, ‘charming’ self. _

Then another part of him piped up with,  _ If you're going to be yourself, why not acknowledge that maybe, you're just a tiny bit- _

Charles shut the thought down.  “I'm  _ not _ in love,” he hissed into his pillow.   _ Anyway, it's not like Erik would reciprocate if he knew I was always in his head. _

It was not surprising that Charles had a very bad night’s sleep.

 

_ \--- _

 

“You look like you tried to fight a pillow and lost,” Emma remarked dryly the next morning.

“And it gave you two black eyes,” Alex nodded, indicating the dark circles under Charles’ eyes.

Erik looked on in amusement.  “C’mere,” he said to Charles, patting the chair in between himself and Hank.  “We need to talk strategy.”

Hank grinned as Charles sat down.  “Their powers might be more useful, but we’re definitely more strategic.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. 

Hank sighed.  “You and I have both received a variety of education about mutant powers and weaknesses,” he said, “and I'm pretty sure Erik over here is a chess grandmaster in disguise.”

“You play chess?” Charles asked.

Erik nodded.  “I'm not sure I’d call myself a master,” he said modestly.

Hank laughed sarcastically.  “That's hilarious Erik.”

Emma, Raven and Alex left the breakfast table to go ‘plan’ telling Erik’s team that they would be ready by lunchtime.

A few minutes later, they were holed up in Charles’ bedroom, sitting on the windowsill in a large alcove with a tall window that overlooked the Xavier estate.

Erik peered out.  “Do you think we’ll be able to do anything in this weather?” He asked, gesturing at the sky that was practically shoveling snow from the heavens.

“Well Alex can use his power to heat stuff up and Raven can morph herself a coat or something,” Hank said, idly drawing circles on the edge of his paper. 

“Also I doubt Emma would feel cold as a diamond,” Charles said.

Erik floated a coin in between his fingers.  “I can build the fort,” Erik suggested.  “And I suppose Hank can make some sort of contraption to throw snowballs.

“Is it usually a capture the flag sort of game, or a ‘I’ll-keep-pegging-you-with-snowballs-until-you-surrender’ sort of game?” Charles asked.  He was sketching out the vague outline of a small castle, complete with arrow slits and levels. 

Erik shrugged.  “A bit of both.  Usually when we destroy their fort, they give up.”  He leaned over to peer at Chales’ plan.

“We should add trenches.  If I'm going to have a snowball-throwing machine, then I can lay down some suppressive fire,” Erik said, indicating.

Charles vaguely wondered why Erik would need a machine since he was a telekinetic, but then reasoned that if he used his powers, then there wasn't any point in his playing.

“That's smart,” Charles said, drawing them in. He looked up at Hank.  “So this machine,” he asked, “what do you have in mind?”

Hank turned his notepad around.  “Just a simple… thing,” he finished, unable to explain.

To Charles, it looked like a conveyor belt with heavy ridges that was turned by a hand crank.  An arrow indicated one of the deep grooves and the caption in Hank’s scrawl read,  _ snowballs go here _ .

“And Erik will use his powers to turn the crank, right?”

Hank nodded.

“Looks good to me,” Erik said with a shark-like grin.

“And I'm sure I've got some materials stashed away somewhere.”  Charles got up and brushed himself down, noticing with embarrassment through his telepathy that both Erik  _ and _ Hank were admiring his figure.  “I'll go get them,” he said, turning away and walking out of the room, trying to blush at the fact that he could tell Hank was staring at his ass.

So Hank was also a ‘homosexual’, he assumed.  He detested that word.  It sounded sterile and prescribed, as if it were a horrible disease.

_ I wonder if he and Erik ever _ \-  _ Nope, nope nope  _ nope _. _  He tried not to think about them like that.  Nope.  

Charles tried to tell himself that he just couldn't imagine two, for lack of a better word,  _ purer _ people together, and that was why he couldn't even think of it, but another part of him chanted,  _ jealous, jealous, Charles Xavier is jealous- _

Charles wrenched open the door to the attic and stalked upstairs, feet banging on the rickety stairs. 

_ If I really was jealous,  _ he countered _ , I would have Erik and Hank bent over the arms of an divan by now.   _ It wasn't as if he was a stranger to it, only this time he’d be doing it for selfish reasons, for his own pleasure.

_ Not selfish reasons,  _ he chided himself.   _ I'm not  _ going  _ to do it, therefore it's not selfish. _

The attic was musty and particles of dust hung in the air like softest, lightest snow.

Charles searched around for something useful. 

He scowled at an antique tea set before his gaze moved on. 

Eventually he decided there was nothing, so he went downstairs to the basement (not the bunker) where he was sure there would be some equipment.  

 

\---

 

“Did you manage to read his mind?” Raven asked, lounging on Emma’s bed.

She shook her head as she stared out the window.  “I was too tired last night,” she said.

“Why don't you try now?” Alex said.  “I feel like we've got our plan set up anyway.”

Emma turned away from the window and went to sit on the bed.  “Fine,” she said.  She stared straight ahead, obviously concentrating.

“She really freaks me out when she does that,” Alex whispered to Raven.  “It's like she doesn't see anything-”

“You know I can hear you right?” 

Alex rolled his eyes.

Emma went back to her telepathy, expanding her power and searching for Charles.  Oddly enough, he was downstairs rather than with his team.  

She focused her energy on him.  Now what should she do… it seemed that sneaking into Charles’ thoughts was be the best option.  After hearing about how powerful the telepath was, Emma didn't want to risk a full confrontation.  If he was a normal mutant, then she hoped he wouldn't notice.

But what the others had said yesterday about his not making a move made her pause.  Honestly, Charles didn't seem the type of person to hurt Erik, especially if Charles felt to Erik even a tenth of Erik what felt towards him.

Why would Charles even do such a thing.  He wasn't even a threat.  He'd practically admitted to them that he was afraid of his own powers.

Emma was about to draw back when next to her, Raven asked, “Well?  Is he the bad guy or not?  Alex said we couldn't be completely sure unless you checked.”

Emma snapped back to herself, the a took a deep breath and started to slip past Charles’ defenses.

 

\---

 

Charles felt the mental equivalent of brushing past someone, and instantly identified it as Emma.

He wondered how she’d gotten through his outer defenses.  

Charles had developed his ‘outer defences’ when he had been employed to hunt down, interrogate, and turn telepaths for the Soviets.  

So that he didn't need to maintain his strongest shields the whole time, Charles had created a sort of instinctive mechanism where he'd trained his subconscious to distract a telepath from his mind.  

Whenever a psychic tried to look closely at his mind, their thoughts would slide off his mind like oil on water, and they’d be distracted.

He found that it wasn't too concentration consuming and that it worked wonders when he was tracking down the telepaths.  They didn't feel threatened by him, because they thought that they could enter his mind whenever they wanted but just chose not to.

Obviously it wasn't foolproof.  If a telepath knew he was doing it, they could easily circumvent it, or if they were put in a position where they were forced to enter his mind, then the results would be similar.

Charles was hoping it was the latter, and quickly surrounded his deeper thoughts in a mental shield, hoping she wouldn't look too deep.

He let some interesting thoughts surface to keep her distracted and prevent her from looking further.

_ Oh look, a bike,  _ he thought, spotting it in a corner of the basement,  _ why would someone leave it down here? _ _ I wonder how cold it is outside.  When’s lunch?  I'm starting to get a bit peckish. _

Then because he couldn't help himself, he decided to have a little fun. 

He allowed himself to picture Erik’s sharp jawline, then his eyes.  Charles’ mind drifted to how close-fitting Erik’s turtleneck was.   _ Mmm, yes.  Peckish, _ he thought.

Emma’s presence practically fled.

 

\---

 

“Oh my God,” Emma said.

“What happened?” Raven demanded, anxiously.

“He was thinking of Erik,” she stammered.

Alex leapt from his seat and jumped on the bed.  “Emma,” he said urgently.  “You need to go back.  It could be a distraction,” he said.  “We need to know what he's  _ really  _ thinking.”

Emma gave him a look. 

Raven snorted.  “Why not?” she said.  “You have to make sure that his feelings are genuine.”

“It's your duty as Erik's friend,” Alex added.

 

\---

 

Charles shuddered.  Had he really just done that?  He snickered.  Maybe it was worth  _ the lie, _ he kept reminding himself, to see Emma’s reaction next time he and Erik were together.  

It was a good thing she hadn't stayed longer, since he would have had to move to Hank.  

Then he felt Emma’s presence again.   _ Damnit.   _ Now he had to do it again.

It  _ would _ have to be Hank this time, he decided as he imagined a scene.

Hank’s tie, usually so neat, was slightly loose and crooked.  Hank gulped, and the dim, warm light illuminated his adam’s apple.  Charles imagined himself reaching forward and gently plucking off Hank’s glasses-

 

\---

 

“Oh my  _ God _ ,” Emma repeated.  “Hank.”

Alex keeled over and rolled off the bed, roaring with laughter.

Raven looked wide-eyed at Emma, horrified.

 

\---

 

Why wasn't she leaving? Charles thought frantically.

He imagined pulling his head close to Hank’s, just like how they'd done in the lab.  Forehead-to-forehead.   _ You are absolutely brilliant, _ he whispered.

_ Shit, _ Charles thought privately.  He hadn't planned this far ahead.  Back to Erik then.

He pulled from a dozen different memories and hastily weaved them together.

_ Charles?   _ Erik was a child.  They were sitting in the field, and the light was a flaming orange.  Charles could tell that if he looked behind him, he'd see Emma.  He didn't dare risk it.

_ Er-ik?  _ he sang back.  Had he really sounded this childlike back then?

_ When we go to America, what kind of house are we getting?   _

_ I don't know,  _ Charles answered, as earnestly as he had when he'd replied to Erik so many years ago.

_ Can we get one where it's always like this? _

_ Yes…  _ Charles remembered with a jolt what he used to call Erik, before he knew what it meant. ... _ dear _ .

Damnit.  He'd picked it up from listening to his parents talk.  

Emma vanished, but Charles kept playing his memory for another few seconds.  What had possessed him to let Emma see that?

He put his head in his hands.  Oh damn, everyone was going to think that he actually  _ liked  _ Erik.  And Hank.  Oh goodness.  What were they going to make of that?

Charles gathered the items he needed and hurried back upstairs.

 

\---

 

“ _ Oh my God _ ,” Emma whispered, opening the eyes she hadn't realized she'd squeezed shut.

“Did he have sex with Hank?” Raven and Alex asked at the same time, both of them somewhat in awe.

“No, they just nearly kissed, but he and Erik were  _ very _ close during their childhood,” Emma said, smiling despite herself.  “He called Erik ‘ _ dear _ ’,”

she said.  “And then I just felt like I was invading his privacy.”

“Ok sure, but tell us about Hank,” Alex said eagerly.

Raven laughed.

“Well,” Emma began, “he and Hank were sitting in armchairs and Hank’s tie was ruffled up.  Then Charles took off his glasses and leaned in to kiss him,” she explained casually.  “Then he said, ‘You are brilliant’,” Emma added.

Alex curled up on the floor whimpering with laughter.  

Raven laughed.  “That has got to be the sweetest thing,” she said.  “Did you manage to figure out what his power was?”

“Oh.  Right,” Emma remembered.  “No.”

Raven laughed even louder and leaned over to hug Emma.  She giggled, “I take it back.   _ You _ have got to be the sweetest thing.”

 

\---

 

About an hour later there was a knock at the door and Hank opened it.

Alex, who had recovered enough to sit up, collapsed again.

“Miss Anne says that lunch is ready,” Hank said, looking curiously at Alex.  “Am I… missing something?” he asked.

“We’ll tell you later,” Emma said with a small smile.  “I think Erik would want to hear it too.”

Hank came with them downstairs, telling them that Erik had already gone down with Charles.  This seemed to amuse Emma greatly.

They sat in their different teams at opposite ends of the table, whispering to each other over their spaghetti carbonara.

“Are you sure it's going to work?” Charles asked Hank.

“Positive.  I made Erik check while you went to ask Miss Anne for lunch,” he replied.

“Hank, you are absolutely brilliant,” Charles said, then instantly regretted it.

From the other side of the table Alex started choking on his pasta.  Extremely loudly.  Raven had to pat him on the back.

_ She told everyone?  _ Charles thought with an internal groan.

Erik stared out of the window.  He was itching to start building this fort.  The snow was at least a foot and a half deep, he noticed, and it was still snowing.  That just made it all the more exciting.

 

_ \--- _

 

All six of them stood decked in ski-gear and goggles with thick boots.

“Ok,” Erik said.  “Three, two, one………GO!” he yelled.  The latch to the half window, half sliding door popped open and all of them dashed out.  

The moment she stepped into the snow, Emma morphed into her diamond form.  She hoisted Alex and Raven into a fireman’s lift on either shoulder and dashed away.

Soon they were hidden by the flurry of snowflakes, although the storm was much lighter than the day before.

Hank, Charles and Erik waded their way to an out of the way place near the trees, close to the ‘real’ garage, which took them twenty minutes.

“Alright Erik,” Charles called to him, “get the shovels!”

“Already on it,” the other man called back, raising a hand in the direction of the garage. 

A moment later, about thirty gardening shovels sailed over the trees and began ferociously piling snow in a circle. 

Erik would take care of the fort, while Charles and Hank would start making snowballs.

They worked silently for another ten minutes.  Hank was incredibly good at making snowballs, Charles discovered.  Together, they made one hundred and forty two.

Charles looked at the fort and let out a gasp.  There was a twenty foot tall mound of snow.  

Erik had even made it out of clean snow by leaving an inch of snow on the ground instead of using all of it.

About ten shovels piled more snow on top, while the rest formed the outside into a neat circle.

After another six hundred snowballs, Charles looked again.

A magnificent miniature castle stood in front of him, with ramparts, tough walls and an extremely tall tower in the middle.  Charles was willing to bet there were stairs.

Erik had hurried around, ordering the shovels to pile snow up and then dig trenches every thirty feet.

He hurried over holding out one hand to keep the shovels working.  “Should I get the Weapon?” he asked.

It had been Hank's idea to call the snowball thrower ‘the Weapon’.  Charles had to agree.  According to the calculations on Hank’s notepad, the Weapon would be in the same vein as a snowball machine gun.

“Go ahead,” Charles said, “but please don't break my window.”

“I won't, Erik said, reaching out a hand in the direction they'd come from.

Two somethings flew towards them, small dots getting bigger.

One of them was a metal wheelbarrow.  The other was the Weapon. 

It looked like a really ineffective tank wheel with a crank attached.  It floated towards Erik and hovered just above his shoulder.

Hank grinned wickedly.  “They'll never know what hit ‘em.”

They now had a thousand snowballs, and Charles’ fingers wouldn't stop reminding him.  They put each new snowball into the wheelbarrow, which was then transported to the top of the tower by Erik, who kept a lookout from the tower wall.

_ Where were the others?   _ Charles thought bitterly.  

A moment later, he wished he hadn't jinxed it.

A beam of light hit the snowball he had been forming and it melted in his hand.  Charles wiped the now-wet glove on his salopettes and spun around.  It was Alex.  

“Haaaaaaaank,” he called out as Alex stalked closer, threateningly raising a snowball.

Something large and blue wearing Hank’s ski-gear flew past Charles and smashed into Alex.

Hank, in beast form, did not do the whole ‘snowball’ thing.  He pinned Alex to the ground and scooped snow all over him.

“Rule breaker!” a lumberjack screeched, throwing a snowball that caugh Hank right in the face.  Raven had arrived.  “Snowballs only!” she cried.

Charles couldn't help but be impressed, as she catapulted herself over Hank, in snow pants no less, scoring three more headshots.

Hank was quick though, and he rolled out of the way to avoid more snow.  Unfortunately, that meant that Alex was free.

While Alex was getting to his feet, Charles quickly and carefully caused the dazed mutant to be unable to see him as he formed a snowball and dashed to the left. 

Charles ‘reappeared’ at the field of Alex’s vision, and threw the snowball with all his might.

A blast of energy zapped the snowball into a splash of water.  Charles backed up as Alex stalked towards him again.

Charles fled, hoping to lead Alex around the castle and into the woods.  Where was Erik? he thought frantically.

Alex had longer legs and when Charles turned, he saw that the other man was nearly on top of him.  Charles renewed his efforts, and telepathically confused his foot eye coordination.  

Alex tried to take two steps with his left foot and unsurprisingly, he tripped.

Charles made it to the tree-line and leaned against a tree.  He could hear Alex getting closer, the snow crunching under his feet.

Oh lord.  Snow.  Damnit.  Footprints.  Hiding was pointless.  

Charles peered around the tree, and reached out with his mind to find Erik.  If he could just lead Alex to Erik…

His mind found Emma in her diamond state.

When a telepath uses their powers, they use waves to achieve a connection.  However, when the wave is blocked with the certain frequency found in psion-blocking helmets, part of the wave reflects back at the telepath, theming them where the helmet user is.  This is much the same as how a dolphin senses its environment underwater.

Emma’s diamond, although it did not have a current running through it to produce magnetic waves, acted exactly the same as a psion-helmet, which was how Charles could tell where she was.

She was close.  And getting closer.  And so was Alex. 

Charles noted that Erik was still in the castle tower.  What was he doing?  And Raven and Hank were still fighting.

Unwilling to control his friend when he didn't need to, Charles merely prayed,  _ Please Erik, follow the footprints. _

Charles sprinted away, dashing from tree to tree.  Emma was coming extremely quickly, while Alex maintained a constant distance from him.  

He didn't have time to make snowballs.

He did invest in backtracking however, as he knew it would buy him time like it usually did when he was being hunted in snowy Russia.

He would run one way for about thirty seconds and stop under a tree with low hanging branches then retrace his exact footsteps and carry on.  

Hopefully Alex and Emma would be thorough enough that they'd have to check both routes before figuring out he'd stayed on foot.

He did this twice more, then on the last one, he made two going to separate trees, then he climbed one and tried to get to another.  He managed to get several trees away, then climbed that one all the way to the top.

He surveyed the area psychically.  Emma had taken the bait, but she and Alex had met up, and he was taking the other path. 

_ Come on Erik, where are you? _

Alex and Emma reached the tree he’d climbed.

“Look, those branches are missing snow,” Alex said loudly in the blanketing silence of the snow.  “He must've gone that way!”

_ Damn. _

Something knocked against his tree.

Emma.

_ Damn. _

She was shining.  The light that reflected off the snow didn't help either.  It almost hurt to look at her, Charles thought in amazement.

“Got you, Xavier,” she said peering through the leaves and locking eyes with him.  She reached out a hand and grabbed a branch.  Emma began climbing quicker and quicker until she was only a few branches below him.

“Actually,” Charles said in his best professor voice, “I think we’ve got you.”

He moved a branch aside, to reveal a floating Erik with the Weapon and its accompanying cart of snowballs pointed directly at Emma.

“ _ À plus tart, _ ” Charles said with a wave, and Erik activated the machine.

The crank twirled faster than Charles could believe, spinning the conveyer-belt-like contraption just as rapidly.

The wheelbarrow tipped the snowballs onto the conveyor belt, and they flew forward like soft white bullets, slamming into Emma’s shining chest and easily dislodging her from the tree.

“Quick, hold on,” Erik called out, “we need to go back for Hank!”

Charles instinctively wrapped his arms around the other man's legs.

Erik laughed.  “I suppose that'll do,” he shouted as they soared back to the snow fort.

 

\---

 

Hank was nervous.  Not because he and Raven were trying their best to give each other hypothermia, but because something painfully familiar was niggling at the back of his mind.

Or his nose.

As Raven twirled around him, avoiding about two thirds of his snowballs, Hank couldn't stop wondering what it was that smelled so familiar.

Raven backed away to make snowballs, and Hank rolled a snow back and forth in front of him to make a huge one, which he hefted up with ease.

He took a preparatory inhale through the nose and jumped up high, flying at least as high as the walls of their snow fort.

Raven looked up from making her fourth snowball to see a big blue beast swooping down upon her with a snowball twice the size of her head.

It looked like he had ripped the middle portion out of a snowman.

Raven dove to the side, but even so, Hank’s giant snowball caught her in the hip, and she tumbled into the snow.

Hank waded over to her.  It wasn't too hard to push through all the snow.  It was relatively light, and Hank had heightened strength.

He made another snowball, regular sized this time, just in case Raven tried anything. 

Then he stopped.

It was such a faint smell, but Hank paused.  He thought he recognized it now.  What was it…

Snow.  A building, half wrecked.  Another, across the street.  A man and woman bound together on the bathroom floor.  The roof, cleared of snow.  A smell.  

Hank made no attempt to block Raven’s snowball.  

“Raven,” he called out dangerously.

Sensing the fear in his voice, Raven stopped.  “What is it Hank?” she asked, stepping towards him.

Hank looked around to see if anyone was watching.  

“I can smell the telepath,” he said in a low voice.

Raven’s head whipped around as if they were about to be attacked.

“The scent is faint.  Maybe it's just the snow, or maybe he's a long way off, or the scent is old.” Hank rubbed his face.  “I hate this snow.  It's messing with my nose.  Any other time, I'd be able to tell if the scent is fresh or stale-”

“Maybe he managed to follow you here when you came for that lecture,” Raven suggested.

Hank shook his head.  “Why didn't he strike then?  We didn't have Emma, and-”

“But,” Raven interrupted, “there were about two dozen geneticists who studied the mutant gene that night.  What if the telepath didn't want to risk exposing his powers in front of other possible mutants?”

Hank shook his head more vigorously.  “It doesn't matter though, because if he'd been following us home, then he'd have known where the house was, giving him the perfect opportunity.”

“What're we going to do?” Raven asked, eyeing the sea of white around her as if it were about to jump on her from behind.

“Helmets.  Do you think you could ask Emma-”

Raven nodded.  “Tonight after supper.”

Hank stared around as well.  “I'll get Erik.”

Neither of them wanted to mention out loud that Charles Xavier was looking more and more suspicious.

Finally, Hank said, “He’s had ample time to strike.”

Both of them knew what he was talking about.

There was complete silence, which was broken by the screams of the world renowned professor Charles Xavier falling from the sky.

 

\---

 

Erik flew through the sky, hovering about twenty five feet above the ground.

“Why do you ever land?” Charles shouted up to him.  Admiration and joy put into words.

Erik laughed.  “Because that's where all the people are!”

Charles was hugging his legs together.  It was comforting and warm, even through the four layers Erik had on.  Then Charles slipped.

“Umm Erik,” he shouted, his hands slipping another couple of inches.

Erik raked the area for any sign of the fort.  “Charles, hang on,” he yelled.

“I think Hank was back that way!” Charles shouted, having sensed his presence but not paid attention to his thoughts because  _ he was going to fall. _

Erik looked down to see Charles jerking his head forward and to the left.

Erik used the metal soles of his shoes to zoom over to where Charles was indicating.

It turned out to be a mistake, however, as Charles quickly began losing his grip.

Charles was hanging by Erik’s shoes now.  Come on… Hank and Raven were almost below them when-

His gloves slipped.   _ Shit. _  “Erik!” he yelled, tumbling to earth with an acceleration of 9.81 meters per second squared. 

This was going to hurt a lot.

It didn't.  There was a loud  _ whump _ and suddenly Charles was cradled in Hank's strong blue arms.

Then Hank, who'd run to catch him, tumbled forwards into the snow, face first.

Charles lay sprawled in the squishy mass of flakes.  “Hank?  That's you right?  Not Raven?” he asked, getting to his feet.

Hank rolled over.  Snow covered his face.  It was in his face and up his nose.  He coughed.  “Yeah, that's me,” he said sheepishly.

“You are absolutely brilliant,” Chalres said, tackling him with a hug.

Erik dropped from the sky like a ship’s anchor, the Weapon and ammo wheelbarrow hovering next to him.  “Charles are you alright?”

Charles let out a hysterical laugh and got up.  “I suppose,” he said. 

Then Erik spotted Raven.  He pointed.  “Look!” 

Suddenly everyone was making snowballs and Erik was speeding toward Raven with the Weapon.

The Weapon spat snowballs at a fierce pace.  It was like a spray of extremely soft balls of hail.

Raven was quick.  She morphed into a scarecrow of a person and ducked and threw herself around to avoid getting hit, but even so, she wasn't fast enough to avoid them all.

Eventually Erik caught her in a storm of about fifty snowballs.

She shrieked as he blasted her. 

Then, the snowballs ran out.

Instantly Raven was on her feet and on the run.

Charles and Hank tried to hit her with their snowballs but she had already dashed out of their range.

Erik sighed as she disappeared into the trees.

Charles came up to him.  “We should make more snowballs.  I'm sure they'll be back.”

 

\---

 

While Charles was out gathering snow, Hank pulled Erik aside.  “I need to tell you something.  And we need to test something.  My room after dinner.”

Erik’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he nodded.

Charles returned and they all continued making snowballs.

 

\---

 

The other team did, in fact, come back.  With snowballs of their own.

Erik’s team was ready.  He had a hundred balls to use with the Weapon if he needed, but he thought it best to save them.  Instead, he rained snow down from above.

Charles and Hank were defending from the tower walls. 

All was going well until Alex decided to melt the fort.

Charles had just hit Emma in the back of the head and was feeling quite proud of himself until suddenly he felt himself falling in an avalanche that had been a walk moments ago.

Charles was buried up to his chest, making him an easy target for Alex’s snowballs.  At that moment, a giant snowball smacked him in the shoulder as Hank rescued him.   _ Again _ . 

Charles pulled himself out and looked at the destruction.  A quarter section of the wall had crumbled.

It wasn't as bad as Charles had initially thought, since the ‘rubble’ created a steep and slippery slope up which it would be impossible to climb.

That is, he thought it would be impossible to climb until Emma leapt up it in her diamond form, digging her feet into the snow easily.

“Hank! You've got company!” Charles shouted, before turning to deal with Alex.

He'd just finished making a snowball when Erik ran up to him from the side.  “Quick.  Come here,” he said, beckoning. 

Charles ran forward with his snowballs and smashed one into Erik's face.  “Imposter!” he cried gleefully.

Raven stumbled back, melting into the young woman.  “What gave me away?” she asked, raising a snowball.

“You don't have the Weapon,” Charles said, leaping forward with a snowball in either hand.  He didn't tell her that he'd sensed her mind with his telepathy.

He spun forward, feinting and lashing out with his hands.  She mimicked him with snowballs in her hands and then they were fistfighting as fast as the falling snow.

Raven launched a fierce jab aimed at Charles’ abdomen.  He tried to dodge but her hand snaked around into a haymaker and she struck him in the side.  Even though it wasn't as powerful as the blow she could have landed if he hadn't dodged, Charles was sent flying, snow exploding against his ribs.

As he was falling he managed to flick a snowball up at her face.  It missed, hitting her in the neck instead, but Charles knew that a neckshot was at least ten times worse than a head shot, since snow could trickle down your collar and prove itself hell.

Raven stumbled backwards as Charles flopped in the snow.  He looked back at the fort. 

It appeared that Hank had repelled Emma and was now dealing with Alex who was doing his best to destroy Erik’s fort.

With a groan, Charles saw Emma climb her way back up the wall.  She got to the top, but just as she pulled her chest over the top, Erik rose from behind the wall and blasted her off with the Weapon.

Charles cheered.  

Then Raven picked him up by the collar and stuffed snow down his shirt. 

 

\---

 

The six of them returned to the mansion about half an hour later.  Erik's team hadn't  _ officially _ surrendered, but their fort had been completely destroyed by Alex and Emma and Raven had held Charles hostage, occasionally dropping snow into his clothes to amuse herself.

Miss Anne already had the fire roaring and she’d started making hot chocolate.

They'd all gathered around the fireplace, shivering.  Hank was still blue, but even his mutation didn't stop him from being cold.

To Charles’ credit, he resisted suggesting taking their clothes off as he'd often had to do after a cold, wet day in Russia.  He had however, heavily supported it when Hank had suggested it.  They were all shivering after all.

He, Hank, Alex and Erik all pulled off their clothes.

“ _ Keep _ your underwear on,” Raven warned.

“Or what?” Alex mocked.

“I will turn morph into Elvis, naked,” she said.  “ _ Naked, _ ” she repeated.

Charles started giggling uncontrollably.  For four minutes.  “Erik help me,” he wheezed, “I can't stop.” Then he collapsed into full blown laughter.

Everyone joined in, laughing at the fact that he was still laughing just as much as picturing Elvis with no clothes.

Eventually they all calmed down, for the most part.  Then Alex asked, “Are you two going to take your clothes off?  We’re feeling self conscious.”

Raven morphed into a man and peeled off her clothes until she was sitting next to them in her underwear.

With a roll of her eyes and a short cussing session, Emma removed her clothes.

“I feel like we’re in one of those family saunas,” Hank remarked.

Through his telepathy, Charles could tell that the only one that wasn't actively trying to avoid looking at Emma’s breasts was Erik.  

“C’mon guys,” Raven chided.  “You sucked your mom’s tits for a year.  Grow up.”

Then, Charles watched in wonder as she transformed.  It was like watching scales flip over in a ripple across her body.  One moment she was a generically handsome young man, the next, she was a lean, athletic woman with cobalt blue skin and dark markings.  She had bright red hair that would have put a fire to shame, and she had pure golden eyes.

Emma turned to her, blushing slightly.  “Thanks,” she whispered.

Miss Anne came in.  Charles quickly infiltrated her mind and bent it to made her feel safe around Raven and Hank, who were both obviously mutants.  He also made Miss Anne trust them completely.

So instead of dropping her tray of cocoa, she smiled and came over to lay it down on the coffee table with a very British “here you go, dearies”.

They slurped their drinks for a while, then Hugo came in.  Charles asked him to go get them all clothes from their rooms while they went and took showers.

They finished the pot of cocoa and soaked themselves in hot water for an unholy amount of time.

Charles got out of the shower only to find that Hugo had picked out a cream coloured sweater and coffee colored slacks.  It could have been worse.

He rubbed his head into a towel, leaving it ruffled, then pulled on his clothes.

By the time he emerged from his room, it was dinner time.  He hurried downstairs, where he found the others arguing about who'd won.  It was mostly Hank and Alex doing the arguing.  Erik and Emma were both too mature.  Raven just laughed.

Dinner was delicious as always, a three course affair with soup, salad and pasta.  

Then Charles pulled himself up to bed and undressed halfheartedly.  

He fell asleep before he could muster the strength to pull his covers over himself. 

 

\---

 

“What did you want?” Erik asked, as Hank cracked the door open.  He was back to looking like a regular human.

Hank peered out at the empty landing.  “You'd better come in,” he said in a low voice.

Erik slipped through the widening crack and into the dimly lit bedroom.  A lamp was flickered on the bedside table. 

Emma was sitting at the windowsill wearing the floaty white dress she had been wearing at dinner.  She was twirling her golden hair around her finger and stopped staring out the window when Erik walked in. 

Hank pointed to something on the floor.  Since it was made of metal, Erik already knew what it was.

“I'm going to put it on, and Emma’s going to make contact with my mind.  You,” Hank looked at Erik, “are going to shape or magnify or whatever it is you do to the magnetic field.  Until Emma says stop.  Then you're going to need to practice doing it.”

Erik squinted.  Hank was being too cryptic for this to be a joke.  “Alright,” he said.  “Emma, whenever you're ready.”

Hank picked up the soon-to-be psion-blocking helmet, and put it on.  It was too big for him, and it slipped down over his eyes.

Emma closed her eyes.  

Erik half-heartedly my stuck his hand out, unsure if he should or needed to use his ‘gesture’.

Slowly, he began to increase the field strength up until he began to fear that the metal in the lamp and the ceiling would be attracted to the helmet if he didn't jeep both rooted in place.  Nothing.

Then he reversed the polarity and tried again.  Nothing.

He bent the field.  He gathered the field lines into a thick cord.  He stretched them.  He spread the waves until it covered the whole helmet, even the bottom, as if Hank’s head were a diving helmet made of magnetic field.

Emma gasped.  “I think I felt something, just for a second.  Wait.  Try again.”

Erik flexed the waves.  He thought he felt something brush against the field, as if another magnet were disrupting it ever so slightly.

With a great deal of effort, he managed to replicate the same magnetism bubble.  There!  He felt it again, but this time there were more.  It felt like someone was spraying a stream of water over the outside of a metal bowl, droplets bouncing off.  

Erik looked over to Emma.  She seemed to be having a tough time.  She was frowning, her eyes squeezed shut, and she appeared to be sweating.

Her eyes flew open.  “I think you got it,” she said.

Hank wrenched the helmet off, beaming.

“Wait,” Erik said.  “I want to try something else.”

Hank grudgingly put the helmet back on.

Emma closed her eyes again, and Erik did everything as he had before.

He felt the small disturbances that he supposed were coming from Emma’s telepathy.  Then he tried something.  Instead of just letting the waves bounce back, Erik directed them.  

He wasn't moving the actual waves, he was just reflecting them off of other magnetic waves he was controlling.  Instead of bouncing away, Erik found that he could point them in certain directions.

However, this was extremely difficult, even for him, and it took nearly all of his concentration to accomplish it, since all the waves Emma threw Hank's way reflected differently off of Erik's shields.

He let go.  Emma opened her eyes, and Hank took off the helmet. 

“Now explain what this is about,” Erik said.

“I smelled the telepath today,” Hank said.  He quickly recounted everything he and Raven had discussed, as well as their speculations about Charles.

Erik had to bite his tongue when they suggested Charles was one of the enemy, but he had to admit the Hank had a point.

However… 

“The telepath hasn't done anything yet.  If he were this deep undercover, then we wouldn't still be planning to go to Cuba.  We'd be dead or worse,” Erik pointed out.

“What if he just wants information?” Emma pointed out.

“Then he'd be long gone by now.   _ If _ the telepath is Charles, which he is  _ not _ ,” Erik clarified, “then he'd have already had the chance to sift through our memories for any intel that would be useful.”

“Look,” Hank said.  “I don't want to-  I don't believe that Charles is out to get us.  But all I'm saying is that we need to be careful.”  Hank slapped the helmet that he'd lain on his bed.  “And right now that means making these work.”

Erik nodded.  That, he could agree on.  “How else can I help?” he asked.

Hank went over to the corner where he’d put his bags, and bulled out two long cylinders.  Erik could feel that they were iron, perfect for making into electromagnets.

“I need you to arrange these,” Hank said, indicating the cylinders, “so that they make the same field that you used to shield my mind when I run electricity from this battery pack,” he pulled one out of the bag, “through it.”

Erik started to grin.  “Now  _ that _ , I can do,” he said, extending his hands. 

Overall, the process took a little over forty minutes of splitting up the iron, arranging it on the helmet, blending it into the helmet, and minute tinkering, but by the end of it, all three of them were grinning.

Hank hastily hooked up a battery pack to the back with some copper wires, and fixed it in place with “Duct tape?  Really?” Emma pointed out with an amused grin.

Hank rolled his eyes and activated the custom made battery pack with a switch on the side.  He put it on.

“Guess what I'm thinking of,” he challenged.

Emma rolled her eyes and concentrated.  After a moment, she said, “Congratulations Hank McCoy, your tinfoil hat seems to have worked.  But,” she added, “I can tell by the stupid grin on your face that you're thinking about Elvis naked.”

Erik clapped.  He'd felt it work too.

Hank took off the helmet.  “Emma, you're psychic,” he said.  “That's exactly what I was thinking.”

She laughed.  “It really worked though.  I wasn't lying.”

Hank turned to Erik.  “Do you think you could make more of these?  Five more, to be precise?” he asked.

Erik nodded.  “Tomorrow though.  That snowball fight practically killed me.”

Emma smiled dryly.  “More like  _ I  _ almost killed you,” she muttered, standing up and joining Erik as he slipped out the door. 

 

\---

 

Charles woke early the next morning, and went downstairs to eat.

It turned out that Hank had developed a nasty cold, and was so congested that he couldn't smell anything, not even Miss Anne’s pancakes.

Hank seemed extremely irritated at this, although Charles didn't understand that this was due to the fact that Hank would not be able to smell the telepath until he recovered.  Charles simply put his irritation of as due to lack of sleep.

By scanning Hank’s surface thoughts, Charles could glean that he'd spent all night working on helmets with Erik and Emma, but Charles knew that one didn't just ‘figure out’ how to make a psion-blocking helmet in a single night.

After breakfast, he showed his friends, which he kept trying to refer to as ‘ _ friends _ ’ in his head, the entirety of the house, including the bathrooms.

He saved the best for last however, and as they approached yet another door that they had passed more than twice before, Erik noticed Charles dip his hands into a pocket to pull out some keys.

“This,” Charles said, unlocking the plain door, “is probably the mansion’s most useful feature.”  Charles had reasoned that there was little point in hiding the bunker from the others, as he couldn't exactly just disappear into it without the others noticing.  It would just raise suspicions.

He unlocked the door with practiced ease, and led them down the dimly lit staircase.  The wallpaper was visibly older, and the carpeting that covered the stairs was worn with years of pattering feet.

At the bottom of the stairs was a small landing, and one side of the wall seemed to be made of thick steel.

Erik could tell that it was some  _ very  _ thick metal.  He tapped in it.  “What was this built for?” he asked.

Charles, who was right in front of him, tapped a few numbers into a panel on the side.  “A nuclear bomb shelter,” he replied, as the steel plate split in half and slid away on both sides.  “My family has always been… prepared for the worst case scenarios.”

Dumbstruck, everyone walked in, Charles sealing off the entrance behind them.

“That I can believe,” Erik said.  So this was what he had been sending before.  It seemed almost bigger from the inside, with its roomy, brightly lit corridors.

“Is the electricity always on?” Hank asked, pointing to the bright lights that reflected the clean floors.

Charles shook his head.  “It comes on when you enter the code to come in.  There's also a generator room down here.”

Hank whistled, and Charles showed them into his lab, which he had thankfully cleaned up the week before his lecture.

It was enormous, with a wide variety of scientific apparatus neatly arranged on four large work tables.

Hank turned to Charles.  “Do you think I could-”

“You can move all your things down here of course,” the professor said.  It was as if Charles had read his mind.

Then he led them down the hallway.  They stopped in front of another door, which Charles opened with the touch of a button.  It slid open to reveal a large circular and domed room with foam mats laid out in squares along it.  In a corner, if circular rooms could be said to have corners, weapons of all kinds were lined up along the wall.  Guns mostly, but there were also knives, swords and foils.  Alex even spotted a bow and quiver.  Targets lay against the opposite wall.

Charles glanced at Raven, gauging her reaction.

“A training room?” she asked in amazement.  

He nodded.

“My family has always been paranoid,” Charles said, smiling as Raven ran inside like a child in a toy store.  

“I can't wait to thrash you, Charles,” she called from the middle of the room.

Charles let out a nervous laugh.

He showed them most of the bigger rooms, like the food storage.  Most of the large rooms were completely empty however, and Charles’ tour came to an end just in time for lunch: French onion soup.

It was over lunch that Emma pulled something unexpected.

As they sat, waiting for their soup to cool, Hank having removed his glasses to prevent them from steaming up by accident, Emma looked Charles straight in the eye.

“I'm afraid I haven't told you the extent of my powers,” she said.  

Everyone stopped blowing on their soup and looked up.

“I actually have two mutations,” she said.

Charles looked surprised, and he leaned in, as if she were telling him her most important secret.

“I can turn into diamond,” she said, “but I'm also a telepath.”

His eyes widened and he looked to Hank and Erik before turning back to Emma.  “When you turn into diamond, can you use your telepathy?” he asked, toying with his soup spoon excitedly.

Emma was clearly not expecting that question.  “Uh, no-”

“I  _ knew _ it!” Charles cried out.  “My thesis  _ was _ right,” he laughed.

Hank could not help but suppress a grin.

Emma shook her head, obviously confused.  “You aren't going to ask if I've been prying in your thoughts?  I mean, I'm glad you're taking this well, but usually people are more,” she shot him a pained look, “angry.  Or offended.”

Charles flashed her a smile.  “Your power, your responsibility, and you strike me as being very mature.”

A flash of guilt passed over her face.  “I'm glad you think so,” she muttered.  

Charles skimmed her surface thoughts to see if he could discover why she had suddenly decided to reveal her power.  He was met with a wash of guilt at her seeing the memory of he and Erik.  

Charles decided not to pry further.  After all, she had the right to keep secrets.  

What was he saying?  He did not need to develop a conscience, especially not now.   _ Charles, you're basically a Soviet,  _ he told himself,  _ the Union, with all its people,  _ need _ you to succeed more than you need to develop feelings of attachment. _

Charles was about to take a discreet dive into her memories when he figured,  _ You know what?  She was probably feeling guilty that she saw your ‘fantasies’ and decided to own up. _

Little did Charles know that Emma felt it safe to tell him, since they had created working helmets the night before.

Charles kept his face in a charming smile.  “Out of curiosity, what did you discover in my head?”

“I… I never said I'd looked in,” Emma said slowly, eyes narrowing.  The others at the table looked back at Charles.

Charles shrugged.  “Well I just assumed that since you didn't know my power, you would've gotten curious.  I know I would have.”

Alex gulped.  Charles was almost  _ too  _ quick and perceptive.  He looked at Emma.

“You caught me,” she said, “but I didn't actually find out what it is,” she continued in a rush to get the explanation out.  

Charles sat back in his chair, face serious.  He looked down, the image of withdrawal.  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I'm not comfortable with it.”

Charles enjoyed the way he could feel the moods of all Erik's friends drop at his lies.  He loved the power he could leak out with just a few simple phrases.  

Of course he was comfortable with his power.  It was an extension of himself, more a part of him than a sixth sense.

Alex spoke up.  “Actually,” he said, “we kind of pressured her into it.  Into looking, I mean.”

Raven gave him a look, then added, “We’re sorry.”

Charles laughed, and felt the mood brighten again.  “Don't be.  I don't want to stop you from using your powers.  What did you see?  Anything of interest?” he asked.

Alex could barely contain a chortle, but he managed it by turning it into a cough.  “Emma told us about…” he glanced around the table wickedly, “about Hank and Erik,” he snickered.

Emma turned to swat him, while Charles, Hank and Erik all blushed.

“What did you see?” demanded Hank, all thoughts of delicious French onion soup forgotten.

Erik glanced across to Charles, who looked over at the exact same moment.  Charles grimaced and mouthed,  _ sorry _ .

Hank turned to Charles.  “What did they see?” he asked quietly, over Emma shouting at Alex.

“Uh, I'll tell you later,” Charles said, spooning scalding soup into his mouth.  He hadn't actually expected Emma, Raven or Alex to actually  _ say  _ anything.  He'd just wanted to embarrass them a little.  He was never going to hear the end of this.

After lunch, they decided to go out and play in the snow again, although this time they worked together to build a monumentally large snow fort, with Alex carving out the innards with deadly precision.

They also made giant snowmen, but eventually their games degraded into an ‘every-man-or-woman-for-themself’ snowball fight.

Charles was barely paying any attention.  He was being torn apart by an internal struggle.  On the one hand, he and Erik had talked a lot over the course of their stay at the mansion, and that had only been two days.  Not to mention that the rest of his friends,  _ ‘friends’ _ rather, were some of the most interesting and fun people he'd met for two decades.

But on the other hand, Charles had a job.  And his job was to stop his ‘friends’ from getting their hands on the ‘assets’ the Soviets were going to sneak into Cuba.  

Once again, he cursed whichever informant had leaked the secret to the Americans.  In his report, Charles had read that the shipment of missiles was to be handled with the utmost secrecy.  They were planning diversions and fakeouts, and they'd brought a couple of telepaths onto the project for memory modification.  Charles just didn't understand who could have possibly leaked the information.  Months of planning, rendered next to useless.  The Soviets had kept to it though, as not to alert the Americans that they'd caught on.

Granted, even the slightest whisper of a rumour of a half truth was enough to warrant an investigation these days, at least that was the case in Russia at the moment.

But that still left him with a problem.

He couldn't just abandon a side of the war that would lose without him.  He also couldn't allow his enemies to progress with their cause, meaning he'd have to neutralize them somehow.

But doing that would take all the fun out of it, after he'd broken them.  Charles was a man of action.  He enjoyed the struggle of taking over someone's mind, and their emotional response when he did, but after a while, they just stopped resisting. 

It was like puppets in a dollhouse.  Charles could do anything he wanted, but there'd be no thrill in it.

For that reason, he felt torn about piloting Erik's team to their doom and demise.  He'd hate himself.  They were such kind people after all.

And they were his enemies.

_ But… _

Before he'd disposed of his mission files, Charles had memorized that the missiles were to be shipped over during the late summer, which would be the perfect time for Erik's strike team to slip in.

That was in about six months.

That meant time.  That meant he had time to spend and enjoy with the others.  

But in the end, would he have the strength to cut it all off?  He wasn't sure.  Charles had no doubt he'd be able to subjugate Emma, Raven, Hank and Alex without too much conflict.  He'd done it before.   _ Too many times _ , some part of him said.  

And it wasn't as if Charles wouldn’t love to see and feel their repair and dismay at his sudden betrayal.  Those moments were thrilling.

But would they be more thrilling than Emma’s small smile?  Or Alex’s fits of laughter?  Or Raven’s transformation jokes?  Or Hank’s smile whenever he saw Charles?

_ Maybe now _ , Charles thought, unconsciously rolling a snowball.   _ But in six months… _

And then there was Erik.  

Charles didn't know if this was some cruel joke played on him by the Russians, or if fate had been particularly vindictive the day he'd gotten his assignment.

This was where Charles started to mentally slap himself around.  

If he was honest with himself, completely honest, Charles knew he wanted two very different things in regard to Erik alone. 

Firstly, Charles desperately wanted the pure relationship that he and Erik had when they were younger, that incited such a bittersweet feeling in Charles’ heart.  

What's more, Erik had, if it were possible, become even more interesting than when they'd been children.  Charles wanted to be able to sit with him for hours and hours, talking.  He doubted that anything Erik had to say would be boring.

Then, there was what any other person would call their ‘dark side’, but Charles what acknowledged as the voice of reason that showed the most direct and effective approach.

He wanted Erik?  Easy.   _ Seep into his thoughts until you've mounded him to your pleasure, _ it said.   _ You can have everything he has to offer without a struggle. _

And he would be happy to do it.

_ He would do anything for you. _

Charles would make him gladly relinquish any sense of self control, of willpower.

Charles was no stranger to this.  He often enjoyed the rush of power it gave him, but later, he would often find himself alone, bored with his complete control over the other person it was no fun without a challenge.

Unlimited possibilities are limits unto themselves, he would think dryly.  But then he'd do it again.  And again.

It was oh so tempting.

_ And _ , the voice added,  _ he would be completely and utterly yours. _

Charles shivered, half with pleasure, the other half in self disgust.

_ It's not as if you haven't been manipulating him already,  _ he reminded himself.  But then again, this was different.  He was letting Erik struggle.  Charles himself was struggling.  And they were both already more than content.

A snowball caught Charles in the shoulder, spraying snow dust in his face.  It was Erik, and he was smiling.

It was so genuine that Charles instantly let go of his desire to have Erik for his own.  _ I doubt I could have created that moment, had he been under my influence _ .

Then Charles mind snapped back to his mission.  Could he influence Erik for the sake of the mission?

Charles didn't have an answer, but as he turned to face the rest of Erik's friends, faces bright and smiling, he knew he would at least be able to say with confidence that he would be staying until summer.

 

\---

  
  


A few hours later found him lying under his covers for an early night’s sleep yet again.  Charles marveled at how much everyone had lowered his guard.  If this was deepest darkest Russia, as he liked to call it,  Charles would be checking the fortifications of his house, stocking up on supplies, and generally getting no sleep as to ensure that nothing caught him by surprise.

Tonight however, he was planning what to get Erik, Hank, Raven, Alex and Emma for Christmas. 

Charles knew that Christmas had been two months ago.  But he really felt that he should get them something, since-

_ Since I want to build up their trust in me.  Make them more susceptible to manipulation, _ his rational part said.

Charles lay back into his pillow, and took a deep breath, quashing his emotions.  He didn't need them right now.

What he needed…

Was to figure out what everyone wanted.  He'd already chosen Hank’s, Alex’s and Emma’s presents, but what could he get Raven and Erik?

Charles didn't want to check their thoughts unless his presents looked too uncannily like what they'd wanted.

_ Raven and Erik… _

Wait.  He had the perfect gift for Raven.  And he wouldn't even need to leave the house to get it, not that he could legally get it anywhere, especially in the United States.

But Erik, he thought.  What did Erik want?

Charles drifted to sleep, dreaming of houses and presidents and gold falling from the sky.

 

\---

 

Hank's cold had not improved overnight.  The fact that he'd gone outside the day before seemed to have made it worse.  Hank's voice was clearly more nasal than usual, and everyone agreed that it would be perfectly fine if he stayed inside that day.

“You know, I might get started on that telepathy enhancer,” he said, getting up from the table.

“Wait,” Charles said.  “I want to help you.  I might be of some help,” he added.

Hank grinned.  Charles sensed that he was thinking of that time in the other lab.

Hank had already taken his things downstairs.  The day before, Charles had lent him the key and the passcode.

The two of them hurried down the old staircase and into the bunker.  After Charles had led them through a particularly confusing set of turns, they arrived at the lab.

Hank pulled out a plain helmet, but Charles waved his hand.  “We don't need that yet,” he said, “first, we need to figure out how to amplify telepathic waves.”

Hank rubbed his nose thoughtfully.  Emma would be good to have right now,” he laughed.

Charles nodded.   _ Well then it's a good thing you have me _ , he thought, repressing a chuckle.  “It'll be fine.  I suspect we just have to reverse the concept for the psion-blocking helmet.”

Hank bit his lip.  What would Charles know of helmets?

“I believe I got a hold of a report some years back,” Charles said, sensing Hank's suspicion.  He tried to slow his breathing, this was a very delicate situation.  “From a cousin I have in Prague.  They were performing preliminary shielding tests with a telepath who recognized that their power could one day become a threat.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed, but he took Charles’ word.  “Why do you have friends in the USSR?” he asked carefully.

Charles shrugged.  “We were friends before the war and after my aunt died, he didn't have any parents.  I've been helping him along, and he felt he owed me something.  Either way, science has no borders.”

Hank’s gaze raked Charles’ face, not entirely convinced.  He was still too suspicious for Charles’ liking.

“Can I ask you something, Charles?” Hank asked seriously, just as Charles was about to go back to his notepad.

“Anything, Hank,” he replied absently, sketching out a helmet on the paper.

“You mentioned during your lecture that you'd been away from your studies for a while.  Where were you?”

_ Oh, Hank.   _ He was too trusting, even in his suspicion.   _ Why do you have to put me in these situations? _  Charles felt like his chest was made of thick ice.  The back of his throat stung.  He wanted to tell the truth, he really did-

Charles looked over to Hank.  “I… wait.”  Something dawned upon him.  “Are you asking me this… Because you think-”

Hank backed away. 

“You think I'm a spy?” Charles said, quietly and incredulously.  His eyes widened even more.  “You think I'm the  _ telepath _ ?”

Hank edged nervously to the other side of the table.  “Charles,” he warned. “Charles whatever you're going to do-” The telepath felt that Hank was forming rudimentary walls to protect his thoughts.  He couldn't break through without revealing his power.

“Hank!” he snapped, “I can't,” Charles paused, apparently too frustrated to complete his sentences.  “I can't  _ believe _ you,” he said louder than necessary.

Now Hank began to flare up.  “No,  _ you  _ don't understand!  There's no one else it could  _ possibly  _ be,” he roared.

Somehow Charles managed to yell louder.  “Erik is my  _ friend _ ,” he shouted.  “I've thought about him every  _ day _ for the past twenty years Hank!  Every day I wish I could go back to having what we had.  And you think that I would throw it all away?  Hurt him?  I thought you knew me better, Hank.”  His voice had begun clawing its way back into his throat halfway through.  The last part had ended in barely a whisper.

Hank stared, and conflict rushed through him.  On one hand, there were just too many coincidences.  But Charles… There was  _ no way _ he could have faked that outburst.

“I don't want to talk about my powers.  I don't want to talk about where I've been.  I'm sorry that I can't answer your questions.”

Hank was still rooted in place, on the opposite side of the desk from where Charles was leaning over it.  He didn't know what was right or wrong anymore.  He was a bundled up flurry of guilt and conviction that didn't know whether to trust his instincts or facts or Charles Xavier.  The fact that he secretly had a crush on him didn't help.

“Shit, I'm sorry Hank,” Charles said, coming around the side of the table, “I didn't mean to do this, but I promise you.  I'm not going to hurt any of you.”

The shield that Hank had hastily raised weakened enough for Charles to slip through his defences.

_ Lies _ . 

Hank’s minds was still a flaring, roiling sea of worry, so Charles gently gave him a nudge in the ‘right’ direction, hating himself for doing so.

_ Emma’s seen what Charles feels for Erik, so why would Charles ever hurt him?  _ CHarles suggested

Hank’s mind briefly flashed with a feeling that Charles interpreted as  _ Soviets _ , but Charles stepped forward and placed a hand on Hank's shoulder, at the same time soothing his thoughts.

“Hank, I promise, by the time summer is up, I'm sure you'll know everything about me.  I've got very loose lips when I've been drinking, you know.  It's just I'm not used to being with other people, and sharing my life story,” Charles said, face lightening.

The other man looked at him.  “I believe you.”

An old sparkle twinkled in Charles’ eyes.  “Let's go build ourselves an amplifier then,” he said, clapping Hank on the back.

They went back to planning.

Charles wanted to scream.  How could he have let them get so suspicious?  He knew that he'd have to take chances in spilling information while they built the psion-amplifier, but he never thought that Hank would make any connections.  What's more,  _ why _ had he let himself into Hank’s mind?  His stomach felt full of acid at the thought of the lie he'd told his friend.  

‘ _ Friend _ ’.

Charles brushed the thought away.  How was he going to stand lying to them for six more months?  He vaguely wondered if he'd been drunk the night before.

He pointed to the helmet he'd drawn on the paper.  “I'm not precisely sure how they make the field work, but I do know that the magnetic field reflects telepathic waves like a convex barrier would, reflecting the waves out in all directions.  I was about to suggest a concave shape, but-”

Hank nodded.  “It would still get blocked,” he finished.

Charles nodded.   _ Brilliant. _  “Not to mention that even if we manage to shoot the waves through the shield like a magnifying glass, it would only go in one direction.”

Hank adjusted his glasses.  “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought,” he muttered.

Charles nodded, burying his head in his hands and massaging his temples.  “We need to find a way to make the waves stronger, go further.”  He shook his head.  “I think we have to work out how to boost the waves, not magnify them.”

Hank looked up.  “Wait.”

Charles frowned. 

“We shouldn't boost them or make them stronger.”

“What?” Charles demanded.

“Think about it Charles, telepathic waves can go a long way, but a magnetic field goes across the whole world,” Hank said, drawing it out on Charles’ page.

Charles gasped.  “Oh my God.  Hank.  Tell me you're thinking what I'm thinking.” (Charles had already checked, and Hank was thinking  _ exactly  _ what Charles had thought he was thinking).

“Ride the magnetic field,” Hank said, slapping the table.

“Let it  _ carry  _ the telepaths wave…” Charles breathed.

A moment passed as they both digested this revelation.  

Then, Charles punched the air.  “You are  _ BRILLIANT!” _ he yelled.  Pulling Hank over into the tightest hug he'd ever given anyone in his life.

 

\---

 

Alex looked up from his cup of coffee.  Beside him, Emma had also noticed something.

There was a shout from downstairs.

Raven’s eyes flicked from her book up to Emma. There were a few moments of silence.  Then they all went back to what they were doing.

Over the rim of his mug, Alex muttered something into his drink.

“What?” Raven asked, turning a page.

Alex looked over to where Erik was sitting, face hidden behind a newspaper.  “Well, their scientific experiments seem to be going well,” he said casually.  “They seem to have made their first breakthrough.”

Raven coughed, putting a hand to her lips to hide them.  In the corner, Erik's hands were paler than usual.

A few minutes later, there was another yell, through which the word ‘brilliant’ was discernible.

“They have such good chemistry,” Alex remarked, trying not to choke on his tea.

Erik folded his newspaper up and tossed it in the fire.  “I'm going to my room.  Call me down for lunch,” he said shortly.  The library door shut of its own accord as he left.

Emma rounded on Alex.  “Firstly,” she whispered viciously, “those puns are the worst scientific sex puns I've ever heard.”

Raven laughed.

“Secondly,” Emma continued, her eyes like rumbling storm clouds, “why would you say that they were having sex in front of Erik?”

Alex blanched.  “Oh shit, I didn't think-”

“Exactly, blockhead, now Erik's going to think that Hank and Charles are together when I know for a fact that Charles would like nothing more than to be with Erik.”

Alex fell back in his seat.  He waited, wondering if it would be acceptable to ask his next question.  He decided to chance it.  “Are they doing it though?” he asked.

Emma glared at him.  “No,” she said.  “And I don't need to use my power to check.”

 

\---

  
  


Charles was so excited that he could have slammed Hank down on the table right then and there.  He wanted what a blond Russian colleague used to call ‘victory sex’ before he'd been murdered by the prostitute he’d hired, who'd turned out to be an American spy.

Charles contented himself with a hug.  

“When to we start…?” Hank nearly choked.

Charles let go.  “As soon as we figure out how to ride the currents.”

“Alright, let's do that now.”

They tried to come up with a way to make it work, but none of their ideas made much sense.  Although Hank trusted that Charles didn't want to hurt them, he wasn't a fool.  Hank knew that people lied and told half truths.  He also knew that espionage, and not downright attack might not directly  _ hurt  _ he and his team, but it would be just as useful to the Soviets.  He tried to push it out of his mind however, which was easy since he and Charles were so engrossed in completing the amplifier.

 

\--- 

 

Charles trudged upstairs.  It was midnight, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast, refusing to come out because he was so obsessed with the project.

A noise at the end of the hall caught his attention.  Erik’s room.  Light shone out from under the door, but it flashed around.  Someone was pacing inside.  A quick use of telepathy showed it to be Erik, alone and angry.

_ I should do something _ , he thought.   _ I'm supposed to be his friend, after all.   _ But Charles knew that using his telepathy to soothe Erik's emotions would just delay the ticking time bomb.

Charles found himself outside Erik's door, all thought of friend vs ‘friend’ gone.  He knocked.

Charles heard a sigh as Erik walked to the door.  The door creaked open, and Erik's bright blue eyes appeared in the crack.

“Charles,” he said, a slightly harsh tone creeping into his voice.  “I suppose you want to come in,” he continued, pulling the door open.

Erik’s face hardened as Charles walked into the room.  How could he have thought Charles would still love him after all this time?  He'd thought that they could go back to what they had, but it seemed as though Hank had captured Charles’ eye.

Jealousy rolled off him in waves, and Charles frowned, as if he could sense it.  Erik turned to the window, determined to have Charles make the first move.

“Are you alright?” 

The light voice, with its British accent came from right beside him.  It took all of Erik's willpower to stop himself from turning and shouting at Charles, screaming  _ no, no, I'm not _ .

“What's bothering you?”

“Nothing that should bother you,” Erik replied, determinedly glaring out the dark window.  He could see Charles reflected in the glass.  He was beautiful, and it wasn't fair.

“Er-ik,” Charles said in that singsong voice of his.  “I can tell when you're lying.”

Erik spun away from the window.  “You want to know what I'm mad about?” he asked Charles in little more than a whisper, although at their proximity it made as much noise as a shout.

Charles followed him around the room, pacing next to him.  “Tell me,” he said.

“How is it that you manage to infuriate me to the point where I have to stay in my room all day?”

“Erik, I… What?”

“Don’t say that.  You're a clever man Charles.” Erik was practically stomping his feet against the floor as they paced.  “I fall in love with men.   _ You  _ fall in love with men.”

Charles’ eyes widened, “I never-”

“Don't pretend you don't Charles, don't you  _ dare _ .”

Charles opened his mouth to deny it but no words came out. 

Erik continued.  “When you saw me in the lecture hall, I could tell that you wanted us to be friends like we used to be just as much as I did.”

Charles had gone completely white, eyes wide and bright blazing blue.

“Then we went for coffee, and I thought, maybe, just maybe, you were  _ just like me. _  We could talk about it, be completely open.  There would be no secrets.”

Charles stopped pacing beside Erik.

“Now I find that you've gone off with Hank.”  Erik was not about to admit he'd been smitten with the memory of Charles for twenty years.  He did not tell him he loved him.  “...I feel as though I've been replaced,” Erik said forcefully.  “By someone you've known for barely a week.”

Charles’ mouth dropped open.  “You think I slept with Hank?” he gasped.  

Erik rolled his eyes, and imitated Charles’ British accent.  “Oh... _ brilliant _ !” he cried.

Charles’ jaw dropped even further.  “You think I made love to him  _ in the lab? _ ” 

“Well judging from all the noise-”

“Erik Lensherr,” Charles said in a voice like thunder striking the top of an active volcano.  “I would never, ever,  _ ever _ have sex in the lab.  Nor have I been sleeping with Hank.”

Erik gave him a long, hard look.  Charles seemed to crumble for a second.

“Hank is nice, but I'm not,” Charles shook his head. “I can't allow myself to think about him…like that.”

Erik came forward until he and Charles were within a foot of each other.

“You know, I've been away for a few years, and where I was, no one would ever talk about-  no one  _ should  _ ever talk about-” Charles interrupted himself, “Look.  The point here is that I can't be-”

“I won't tell.”

Charles laughed dryly.  “They already know.  Your friends, I mean.  But,” he raked his hands through his hair, “I've never actually acknowledged it out loud.”   _ If I don't say it, then I'm not. _  “I've always just-”

Charles snapped his fingers and thrust his pelvis forward in a crude demonstration.

Erik stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.  It was like medicine to the soul in both cases.  Erik’s laughter was like a swift stream, washing over Charles and soothing him.

“We’ll help you along, I promise,” Erik said finally.

Charles had pursed his lips in a small smile.  “Thank you,” he said softly.  He had been feeling tired, but now he felt more awake than ever.  

He voiced this to Erik, who suggested that they play a little chess.  Charles was excited.  He hadn't played chess since he'd been stuck in a shack in deepest darkest Russia for a month.  Even then, he'd had to play against himself.

“Let me see if I can remember how to play,” Charles chucked, pulling up an armchair to face Erik’s.  

Erik had brought his own chess pieces.  That should have warned Charles for what was about to happen.

Erik chose white.  

Within a few minutes, Charles realized he had just been thrashed, as he spotted his queen in danger.  He moved it to safety. 

“Checkmate.”

_ Damn.   _ Never before in his life had he felt so humiliated by an ally (he'd been humiliated far worse by his enemies of course)-

Wait.  No.

Erik  _ was  _ his enemy.  He would do well not to forget that.  But still…

“Well I'll be damned,” Charles said, trying to keep his dignity all in one piece, or at the very least, a couple large ones.  “Care for a rematch?”

Erik grinned like a shark.

This time, however, Charles was determined not to lose.  He gently let his consciousness slip past Erik’s basic defenses, and rested in a corner of his mind where he could effectively ‘watch’ Erik’s thoughts pass by.

Erik chose white.

The moment Charles placed down his black piece, a knight, Erik’s thoughts practically broke the sound barrier, they were flooding through so quickly.

Charles’ opponent flashed through about a hundred plans of attack, siphoning off bad ones, before finally moving another white pawn.

Charles moved a pawn.

Again.  Plans, eight moves ahead of the game, accounting for possibilities where Charles moved different pieces raced through Erik’s mind.  Even before Charles moved his knight again, Erik was still forming plans, although much slower than when Charles actually moved the piece.

The volume and speed of the thoughts were almost overwhelming, but Charles had years of practice reading quick thinking, scheming politicians, so he was able to process them just as quick as Erik.

Charles chose the paths that afforded him the least losses, but that was only slowing Erik down.  He'd planned for it, and that was where Charles had gotten his ideas.  Erik didn't plan to lose.

What  _ hadn't  _ Erik thought of? he wondered.

_ Only the moves that would make absolutely no sense whatsoever, _ he finished.   _ Something no one would do. _

Charles decided to give it a go.  He pushed his knight forward.  It could be attacked by half the pieces on the board, and there was nothing to avenge it if it fell.  It was literally there for no reason other than to die.

Charles heard a loud,  _ what the fuck _ ? come from Erik's mind.  

Then Erik’s thoughts bubbled.  Charles loved to see how he'd thrown him off, rattled him.  

_ It must be a diversion… Or maybe...Is it a trap?  Should I do it?  Should I ignore it?  Damn… What the hell?  Maybe… _

Erik ran through a series of maneuvers in his head, weighing the odds. 

Eventually, he took the ‘bait’ and the knight was out.

Charles immediately pulled another crazy move.  He was met with the same response, and although he was quickly losing his miniature army, he realized that he just needed to attack while Erik dealt with his ‘distractions’.

The two of them sat in complete silence, mutely moving their chess pieces.

Finally Charles was left with a pawn and his king, while Erik chased them around with his knight, rook and bishop while his king watched from the sidelines.

Three moves later, Charles realized he was stuck.  

“Damn,” he said as Erik collected the checkmate.  “We shall have to play again sometime,” he said.  And he'd thought that Erik would be all strength and determination and no planning.  Charles nearly laughed.

Charles leaned back in the armchair. He hadn't realized he'd been sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Well that came as a slap in the face.  Hank was right, you  _ should  _ be a grandmaster,” he said.

It might have just been the light, but Charles swore he saw Erik blush.

“Thank you,” Erik said, peering out of the darkened window.  He was smiling, but then his lips tightened and he sighed.

“This whole Cuba thing.  Is it bothering you?  I mean, bothering more than a possibly deadly mission should?” Charles asked.

Erik blinked.  Charles was remarkably perceptive.  He nodded, not turning his eyes from the window.  “I feel like there's something big that we don't know about.”

“You mean the telepath?” 

Erik nodded.  “So many questions,” he muttered to himself.  He glanced at Charles, almost warily.  They locked eyes.

Charles bit his lip.  He wanted so badly to say something.  Anything.  He wanted to lie about his powers, just so Erik would stop looking at him that way, even though Erik was perfectly validated to do so.  Instead, he said nothing.

“Ah well,” Erik said, “I'll just sleep on it.”

Charles didn't need to use his telepathy to figure out that Erik was not tired at all.

Erik got up from his armchair and started taking off his clothes.  

Charles tried very hard to look away, but he could still see Erik in his peripheral vision, and he couldn't  _ not  _ look at Erik without completely turning around.

_ Damn damn damn no I'm not ready for this no no no no no I'm leaving I need to leave right now before he manages to unbutton his shirt all the way no no no _ , and other such thoughts flew through Charles’ mind.  He mentally blocked himself off from Erik, hoping,  _ praying _ , that he wasn't doing it on purpose.

“I think-” Charles said, trying to make an excuse to leave, but Erik cut him off.  

“Don't worry Charles, I'll only be few minutes.  I'm just going for a shower.”  And with that, Erik walked out of Charles’ field of vision, still half clothed.  He heard the bathroom door open and close.

Charles gripped the arms of his armrest.  What was happening.  He couldn't just leave, but he  _ couldn't,  _ he  _ would not _ , he  _ refused  _ to stay.

 

\---

 

Erik stepped out of the shower about five minutes later, pulling one of Charles’ fluffy white towels around himself.  Of course the stunt with the clothes had been to impress Charles.  Of course he had been dropping hints that Charles should stay in the room.  Erik, although he would never admit it out loud, had thought he'd been rather smooth about it all.

Charles would have disagreed.

Erik quickly wiped his dripping hair, and walked back out.  “Your turn,” he called out.  

Charles peeked his head out from around the armchair, then withdrew it twice as fast.  “You know I have my own bathroom, Erik,” he said, a slight quaver to his voice.

“Maybe,” Erik said, walking in front of Charles’ armchair, “but you'd have to wait for the water to get warm.”

Charles took one look at Erik, semi-covered with his towel and looked down at his oak colored oxfords.

“Well I'm going to get changed so-” Erik began.

Charles practically fled to the bathroom.  

Erik heard the lock click shut.  The metal lock.

 

\---

 

Charles had a long shower.  The kind of shower people use to think about deep and troubling matters, halfheartedly scrubbing shampoo into their hair and forgetting to wash their armpits.

He was completely stunned.  Why on earth was Erik being so forward with him?  Charles hadn't known what to expect.  Obviously, when you pay a prostitute, or just do a quick one-timer in the back room, you expect things to happen fast.  

Charles had thought that normal people had to work towards sex for  _ months _ .  Slowly dropping hints and clues and falling in love and all that.

_ Maybe it's just different in America, _ he thought.   _ Or maybe he doesn't actually want to sleep with me.  Maybe he's just trying to be nice. _

_ Either way, it must be different in America. _

Charles absentmindedly turned off the water.  What had he gotten himself into? he thought as he reached for a towel.  

There was no towel.  

Charles said something very nasty about Erik in Russian.

No way was that an accident.  Erik had not left him a towel on purpose.  Charles knocked at the bathroom door.  “Erik,” he called, “would you mind getting me a towel from my room?  I'm afraid there aren't any left.”  He'd decided he'd best play it aloof for now.

“Alright, I'll be back in a bit,” Erik said, from right outside the door.

Erik returned two minutes later.  Charles unlocked the door and stuck his hand out through the tiny gap for the towel. 

Something touched his hand.  “I couldn't find any pajamas in your room, so you can have mine,” Erik said, pressing some clothes into Charles’ hand.  Charles flushed bright pink.  Erik didn't know that he slept in just underwear.  

Charles pulled the pajamas in and laid them on the sink counter, then put his hand out again.  

“Towel, Erik,” he reminded him.  He felt the fuzzy thing being placed in his hand.  He pulled it back quickly and closed the door, making sure to lock it.

He hurriedly dried himself, then pulled on the clothes, red and white with navy blue trousers.  

Charles took a second before unlocking the door.  How was he going to get out of Erik’s room.  He decided to use telepathic force if necessary.

Charles unlocked the door and pushed it open, carrying the towel slung over an arm.  

Erik sat on top of the bed in dark green and red pajamas, clutching his jar of coins.

“You look like Christmas threw up,” Charles remarked. 

Erik snorted.  “You look like Russian propaganda.”

Charles coughed, looking at himself.   _ It's like he knows _ .  “More like Uncle Sam, or the Union Jack,” Charles said, pulling at his navy pants.  “But at least you admit you have terrible taste.”

Erik snorted, and patted a stretch of bed next to him.  “Sit.  We never really finished catching up at that coffee shop.”

A wave of relief rolled over Charles.  Erik wasn't expecting to make love.   _ Praise whoever is watching over me _ , he thought, sitting cross-legged next to Erik on the bed.

He had a sudden blast of nostalgia.  He remembered sitting on his bed in England with Erik, cross legged, exactly like this, counting their coins.

“So do you still collect?” Charles asked, indicating the jar he had given Erik last time.

Erik laughed.  “Of course!  Do you?”

Charles nodded.  “I've seen some pretty odd things while keeping an eye out for them.”

Erik raised an eyebrow.  “Really?  Tell me.”

Charles launched into a story while Erik leaned back to listen.  Then Erik told an anecdote of his own.

They continued this for a long while until Charles yawned.  Erik blinked, then looked down at his watch.  “It's three in the morning,” he said, almost incredulously.

Charles nodded.  “You should get some sleep,” he said.  

Erik blinked.  He did feel tired, but felt like he should be the one to tell Charles to get some sleep instead of the other way around.

“Actually Charles,” he began, words slurring slightly.

“Sleep.  I'll be right here,” Charles said, patting the pillow beside him and shifting into a comfortable position.

Erik nodded and pulled the covers over himself.  Charles sat on top of them, waiting for him to fall asleep.  He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, and the two of them sat in silence until Charles felt the rise and fall of Erik’s chest against his knee fall into a slow and steady rhythm.  He hadn’t used any of his powers.

Charles sat in the dark.  A tear rolled down his face.

 

\---

 

When Erik woke early the next morning, he found himself alone in bed, without so much as a warm patch to remind him that Charles had ever been there.

 

\---

 

Charles disappeared from the house for a whole day.  The snowplows had halfheartedly scraped away most of the main road, and he’d taken Alex’s car.  He’d left a note that said he was going shopping, but absolutely no one believed it.  Although Hank tried to reassure everyone by retelling what had happened in the lab, it wasn't helping very much.

Erik wasn't sure how long they could go on half trusting Charles.  In the beginning he would have placed his life in Charles' hands.  Now after what everyone else had told him, he wasn't so sure.  Even more unsure after last night.   


The evidence was overwhelming, or at least, the 'coincidences' were stacking up far too high.   


Emma managed to convince Hank that each of them should have a helmet in their rooms, just in case.  No one objected when they neglected to leave one in Charles' room and just left it in a store room in the bunker.  Even Hank didn’t object, although Erik could tell he'd been seriously considering it.   


So when Charles did return, carrying thick brown parcels, Erik half expected them to be time bombs.   


He couldn't have been more wrong.   
  


\---   


Charles sat them all down on the sofa next to the fire and placed the packages on the coffee table.  There were quite a lot of them.

Charles sat opposite them, on the other sofa.  "So I went out to get you all gifts, seeing as I didn't know you at Christmas," he said, somewhat breathlessly.  That was a lie, of course, Charles vividly remembered rereading everyone's files while he ate reheated duck in gravy surrounded by soggy vegetables.     


There was a long silence.  "Oh, right," Charles said.  He passed two small packages over to Alex.  Then he passed two slightly smaller parcels to Emma, a very heavy present for Hank, along with a thick envelope.  A tall cylindrical parcel, and slim squishy one for Erik, and a single, yet oddly heavy parcel to Raven.   


"Now you have to try and guess what they are," Charles said, grinning and turning to Alex.   


Alex quickly regained his composure after he'd lost it when he'd been handed the small parcel.  "Um, alright," he said, examining it.  It was very heavy.  After a few moments, he shrugged.  "No clue," he said.  He glanced at the other small package.  "No clue at all."   


Charles laughed and turned to Emma.     


"Not sure what this is," she said, indicating the slim box, then she picked up her other parcel.  It wasn't a box.  "Since it's squishy I'm guessing it's some kind of clothing..." She frowned.  "But some parts are hard," she added.  She looked at Charles and shrugged.   


Charles looked at Hank.  "Well mine is solid, but it's got ridges down the side, so... books, I'm guessing," Hank said.   


"And the envelope?" Charles asked.   


"You don't seem like the kind of man to just give out money, but that's my best guess," Hank replied, bemused.   


Charles just smiled at him before turning to Erik.   


Erik smiled back.  "This," he said, patting the cylindrical package, "is an empty container, and these," he waved towards his slim parcel, "are probably clothes."   


Charles turned to Raven, who shook her box and listened to the rattle.  "No clue," she said after a moment.   


Charles beamed.  "Alright then, let's open them," he suggested.   


Alex tore open the larger of his two packages first.  "Whoa," he said, as a brand new pocket radio slipped into his lap.  He held it up to the light.  "This doesn't look like a normal one, Charles.  Where did you get it?"     


Charles bit his lip, trying to keep his smile under control.  "It's a modified five-transistor radio.  I took it to a workshop and asked them to make it better.  Yours can pick up a lot more frequencies now, and it has a wider range to receive them.”     


Alex nearly tumbled over the table to hug him.  "This is amazing," he said, flicking on the instant-on button.  "Holy wow, this is a lot better than the old tube ones," he said, showing it off to Emma.  He eagerly reached for the second package.   


He pulled it open, finding a small note and a box containing needle and thread.   


"I thought of the emergency sewing kit because Hank told me you often have trouble repairing your old uniform.  I know it's really thick.  That needle was the hardest I could find, and I'm quite sure that the thread is stronger than a fishing line," Charles explained hurriedly.  
Alex nodded slowly, attention focused on the small card.  "Um Charles, you don't-" Alex looked up at everyone and read out what Charles had written on the card.    


_ Alex.  If and when you manage to crash your car, I will buy you a new one.   _   


_Signed, Charles Xavier_ __  
  
"Merry Christmas," Charles said, moving on to Emma before Alex could figure out how to work his mouth again.  


Charles watched with baited breath as  Emma neatly tore open the first package and pulled out a velvet box.  She opened it and let out an involuntary gasp.   


She gently reached in a hand and pulled out a glittering chain.  A diamond necklace.     


"I thought it would suit you," Charles said.  "But I think you'll prefer the other present."   


Mutely, Emma picked up the other package and numbly pulled apart the wrapping paper.  A silk scarf poured out like pure white foam from a rushing river, and a pair of earmuffs tumbled out after them.   


Emma felt the muffs.  "They're so soft!" she exclaimed.   


Charles smiled, relieved that she liked his presents.  "They're rabbit fur," he said.     


Emma went over to hug him in a more dignified manner than Alex had.   


Hank started tearing his gift open the moment Emma had sat back down.  He ripped open a section of the wrapping paper to partially reveal the cover of what seemed to be a thick book.     


"Charles, you are-" Hank was at a loss for words as he finished pulling off the wrapping paper and held up the book.   


It was a hand-bound volume with an aged leather cover, and the words  _ Collected Essays, Annotated, Charles Xavier _ .   


"Fucking annotated," Hank whispered, as if he had just been handed the first draft of the Bible.

Hank just stared at Charles' smile for a few moments while everyone around them held back laughter.  Then he picked up the letter with one hand, afraid that Charles' essays would disappear if he didn't make sure it was there.   


He awkwardly tried to open the letter with one hand, but then Emma took pity on him and helped him hold it down.   


Hank drew out a very expensive looking piece of paper upon which was a long letter written with long words and remarkable penmanship.   


While Hank was reading it, Charles cleared his throat.  "It's a letter of recommendation," he said.   


"'To any whom it may concern'," Hank whispered reverently, citing the opening line.   


"It'll get you into any private library in the world... I think.  Anywhere that has heard of the Xavier's at any rate," Charles explained.  "It could probably get you into a whole lot more places than just libraries though, I made not to word it too specifically."   


Erik broke the awed silence with a booming laugh.  "Charles, is it just my imagination, or do you make an effort to be hilarious?"   


"I try Erik.  I try."   


Erik grinned.  "My turn, then," he said, taking his slim package first.   


There was a loud ripping noise, and Erik drew out-   


"Pajamas, Charles?  Really?"   


Charles shrugged.  "I do try remarkably hard to be funny," he said.  There was a pause.  "You can go ahead and laugh now," he added.   


Erik snorted, hugging the maroon pajamas with grey polka-dots to his chest and reaching for the tall cylinder.  He peeled off the brown paper and said, "I knew it."   


Erik pulled out a large, empty glass vase.  There was a tag attached to the lid.  It read:  
  
_To fill together._ __  
  
Erik's face was unreadable as he looked up at Charles.  They locked eyes, and Charles saw something in Erik's eyes, the bluest sky he'd ever seen.    


"Thank you," Erik said, and Charles could tell he was trying to conceal how much it meant to him.    


Not for the first time, Charles nearly told them everything, but years of resisting his base urges kept his mouth clamped shut.   


Then it was Raven's turn.  She pulled off the wrapping in one swift moment and gawked at the silvery pistol that tumbled out.   


"That's not a Nagant, is it?" she asked, holding it up to her face for closer inspection.     


"It is, but with a few modifications that make it...uh... not as obsolete," Charles said with a smile.  "I thought you might like it because it has a built-in silencer."   


"I don't usually go in for guns," Raven said, pursing her lips.  She held the barrel up to a golden eye.  "But the craftsmanship on this is rather nice," she conceded.   


"For luck," Charles suggested.  She nodded, flashing him a small grin.     


"I'm sure we're going to need it."   


Everyone thanked Charles once again for their presents and went off to enjoy them in the library.  Charles picked up an old book and sat in the corner.  Alex was holding his radio to his ear, ignoring the fact that there was a radio only a few feet from the fireplace, and Hank was curled up in an armchair by the fire, poring over Charles' essays.     


With his telepathy, he could sense Emma and Raven downstairs in the training room, trying out Raven's new handgun.  He felt Erik upstairs, putting the jar on his dresser and emptying his spare change into it.   


Charles lost himself in the book he was reading.  It was one of those espionage thrillers, the kind that feature the archetypal British secret service agent covertly meeting up with a member of the CIA to compare notes about the KGB.  Although most of it was completely made up, there were a few parts that were almost perfectly accurate, such as where along the Thames river they would meet and what food the British agent would bring to eat at that small bench for two.  Charles couldn't speak for the American, but he was sure that the small details were just as accurate.   


In fact, the author was a retired British agent himself.  The book had been signed, and he'd even scrawled a short note inside the front cover:  
  
_To Charles,_ _  
__The next time you fuck up my intel, I will personally sacrifice you to the beast under the Kremlin.  Other than that, I owe you quite a few for Berlin._ __  


_Edward Owen_ _  
_  
_Mmm, Berlin_ , he thought, looking as if he’d just bitten into a lemon slice.  Eddie hadn't known that he'd been working for the Soviet Union back then. _Still_ , he reminded himself, _I saved him from getting shot about fifteen times._ __  


He was just getting to the good part when someone tapped his shoulder and he started, slamming the book shut.  Too late, he realized he'd lost his page.   


"Yes Hank?" he asked, flustered, trying to find it again while attempting to not accidentally spoil himself.   


"I was going to work on the wave connectors, want to come?"   


Charles put the book aside.  "Of course!" he said, putting down _ The Fourth Agent _ and letting Hank lead the way down to the bunker where they passed Raven and Emma.   


As Charles bent over a pile of scrapped copper and notes, he thought he'd never felt so genuinely content in the presences of his foes.     


He took a deep breath in.  He was going to have the best six months he'd had in years.   


They made quite a bit of progress that afternoon.  So much so that Hank even decided to postpone his trip to the warehouse to work on the jet, just to work on the telepathy booster that they playfully named Cerebro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Orbison and Elvis bashing, don't worry, I love them both :’D (because I'm a sucker for old music).   
> Emma is totally the mom and literally everyone else is a fanboy/fangirl (I’m so sorry that it just becomes not-sorry)   
> Also sorry that this chapter is soooooooo long I really don't want you to get your hopes up for this long of a chapter next time because I'm 97% sure it won't be :’D (it'll be more of the regular length). Consider it a Christmas gift to all you wonderful readers.
> 
> For every happy, peaceful and fluffy chapter, there is an equal and opposite ‘everything goes to sh*t’ chapter. You have been warned.


	8. Sheer Panic

Frosty February thawed into mild March.  Eventually, near the end of the month, the snow melted away and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds enough so that everyone at the Xavier mansion could go outside and begin their real training.  Charles and Hank had made remarkable progress on Cerebro.  They were almost ready for a test run.  About a week after things started warming up, Charles caught Hank staring out of the window in the dining room, looking solemn.

“I can see that something’s on your mind,” Charles said, coming up beside him.  He’d never really gotten over the amusement of slipping in telepath puns into his normal speech, but he’d learned to hide them better.

Hank didn’t seem suspicious in the least.  Over the past few weeks, Charles had permitted himself to exert his influence a bit more.  Not the mind altering influence, but gentle pulses that set the others at ease around him.  Charles felt guilty about it of course, but since everyone, including Emma, was nicer to him for it, his conscience let it slide.

“Well, I’ve only been staying here because we’ve been snowed in, and because we’re nearly done with Cerebro,” Hank began, “But the jet won’t upgrade itself.”

Charles shrugged.  “Do what you have to, Hank,” he suggested.

The other man grimaced.  “But Cerebro’s nearly done, and,” he paused, “Not that I don’t think you can’t finish it by yourself, but-”

Charles snorted.  “Hank, the day I figure out how to work something that has a more complicated system than on-and-off switch, I’ll let you know,” he said. 

“But I want to be there when we give it a test run,” Hank finished, mood raised slightly.

“Fair enough.”

They both looked out of the window and onto the lawn.  It was beginning to return to its green color, but every dozen meters or so there would be a huge snow pile or a small patch of torn up earth from where Erik and Alex had practiced.

“You know,” Charles said, “I think we could finish it today.”

Hank pulled his eyes away from the window and sighed.  “We’d better get Emma then.”

  
  


6 PM

Hank crouched beside the table fiddling with a pair of copper wires.  Charles was leaning over the table, double checking all the wires that fed into the helmet.  It had been Charles’ idea to create a link with magnetism and telepathy by using a current running through a wire, but Hank was the one who’d figured out how to actually do it.

Emma sat by the door, reading a book while the others made adjustments.

“Alllllllright…” Charles said, biting his lip as he tweaked the last wire into place.  “I think we can go ahead with the test run.”

Hank, who had just finished with what he’d been doing, nodded and beckoned Emma.

Charles sat her down on a plain wooden chair while Hank carefully lowered the finished Cerebro onto her head.  

Charles felt a flash of anxiety flit through Emma’s surface thoughts, and caught a glimpse of it in her eyes.  “Just relax.  Even if it doesn’t work, it shouldn’t hurt.”

Emma nodded.  “Just get it over with,” she said.  

Hank crossed to the end of the room and flicked on a power switch.

Silence.

Then Emma gasped.  “Oh my God, there’s so much space,” she whispered nervously.  “I can feel people all the way-” she paused, frowning, perfectly made up lips pursing.  “No… no…. Shut up!” she yelled.  Charles saw her eyebrows jam together in concentration.  “I can feel people so far away…” Emma jerked her head to the side as if she’d been struck.  

Charles darted forwards and wrenched Cerebro off Emma’s head.  “Emma, are you alright?” he asked urgently.  

Hank hurried over.  “What happened?” he asked.

Emma took a shaky breath.  “I could reach out so  _ far _ … it was like being in the middle of the ocean where you can’t see the bottom or the top and there are loud screaming things everywhere.”

Charles nodded, looking her straight in the eye, feeding her mind a steady dose of calmness.  Inside, he was shrieking in delight.  It had  _ worked _ !  Maybe it couldn’t cover the whole globe, but Cerebro  _ worked _ .  

Greed and lust flamed in Charles’ chest.  He wanted Cerebro for himself.  He  _ needed  _ it.  Charles repressed a shiver.  Then it was over, and Charles remembered himself, a flicker of self disgust resting in his stomach.

He realized that Emma was staring at him.  His mouth had been hanging open and he’d been staring into space.  “Are you alright?” he managed, slowly.

Emma nodded.  “Just a bit shocked, that’s all.  It felt so open,” she said.

Hank was crouched beside them.  “So it worked?” he asked tentatively, not sure weather to comfort or celebrate.

“Yeah,” Emma said, a little energy returning to her voice.  “I suppose it did.” She laughed.  

Hank took this as a sign to celebrate.  “Shall I get the champagne?” he asked, turning to Charles.

“Yes,” Charles replied, setting Cerebro down gently on a side table.  “Champagne.  And…” he paused scratching his chin, “I think Miss Anne made some cake last night.  We could uh… bust that out,” he finished, leading them through the maze of corridors.  

He turned.  Hank had his shoulder around Emma and was hugging her tightly.  Charles heard him whisper his thanks.

He led them up the creaky old stairs and around to the kitchen.  Emma called everyone in and explained what they’d just accomplished.  Charles couldn’t contain his pride at it.  Every few minutes and in between mouthfuls of pound cake, he would praise Hank, and everyone would snort into their cocoa.  Tensions and lips had loosened over the past month and the occupants of the Xavier mansion were a lot more open with each other.  They still didn’t know what power Charles had, but they didn’t seem to care as much as they used to.

Erik went to get his second helping of cake and took a generous portion.  Charles poured him another glass of champagne.  Keen for any excuse to celebrate, the six of them stayed up drinking until ten.  That wouldn’t normally be late, except that they’d been drinking solidly for four hours.

When they all finally realized that they would have vicious hangovers in the morning, they toddled off to bed one by one.  Charles supported Erik as they practically tripped up the stairs. 

He was  _ so  _ drunk, Erik thought with a tiny giggle.  It seemed that Charles was just as intoxicated, as he began giggling as well.  They reached the door to Erik’s room and Charles sloppily tried to twist the doorknob.  He giggled.  “Erik, Erik I can’t open it,” he wheezed, British accent more pronounced than ever. 

Erik waved his hand, bumping the knob with his hand.  The door flew open with a bang.  

“Whoops,” Charles giggled.  

Erik stumbled over to the bed and fell into it, fully expecting Charles to follow.  He rolled over so that he was face up.  

“You know what Erik?” 

“Yeah….” he replied slowly.

“I’m really,  _ really _ drunk,” Charles said, attempting to sound sober but completely failing.  Charles pitched forward onto Erik, stopping himself by propping up his elbows.

“You know what Erik?” he asked again, squinting.

“Your breath smells like champagne,” Erik said, as if it took a long time for his words to get through his mouth.  He was so comfortable.  Like… a comfort sandwich with a slice of bed on one side and a slice of Charles on the other.  He was  _ so _ drunk.

Warm lips touched his.  

Then he felt Charles’ even, deep breaths against his stomach.

It felt like they were there together forever, each too drunk to take a step forward or a step back.  Then Charles groaned and rolled off.  He sat up. 

“I’m drunk Erik,” he said again.  He pulled the covers over his friend and groped around the lamp to turn it off.  He rubbed his temples.   _ Too drunk for rational thought _ .

He stumbled to the door in the dark and pulled it open.  His mind was telling him to go to sleep, but after fifteen minutes of wandering through the empty halls, Charles found himself at the top of the rickety old stairs and the peeling wallpaper.

Using all his concentration not to tumble down the stairs, Charles reached the landing and drowsily tapped in the code.  

The lights were painfully bright, but Charles made it to the lab, where he flicked off the lights.  He was left in the dark, fumbling for a power switch that he knew was around here somewhere…

_ Click. _

Something began to glow faintly behind him, and Charles turned to see Cerebro laying on the table where he had left it, illuminated by blue lights littered around on the tables.  Hank had connected them to the same power source so that they could tell when Cerebro was on.  It had been an afterthought and they had both been to afraid to tamper with the mess of wires to attach a smaller one to the actual helmet.

“Alright,” he said, “Let’s see what you can do.”

Charles placed the helmet on his head gently.

Then his world seemed to shatter.  It was as if he’d been thrown out of a plane.  He could see for so far, and adrenaline flared through his veins.  He didn’t feel drunk or sleepy at all.  

He could reach so  _ far!   _ It was amazing.  Charles brushed up against a thousand minds, feeling their dreams or their nightly thoughts.  He practically abandoned his own mind, throwing caution to the wind and roaming around this new playground.  He stopped paying attention to the mansion- it wasn’t like anyone would be waking up soon, and began exploring the minds in faraway Manhattan, which would normally have been out of his reach.

Then a flicker of pain registered.  Distress.  Charles tried to block it out, but he wasn’t used to dealing with this many people at once.   _ No… _ He couldn’t be this powerless.  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be…  _ No.  I will master this. _ _ Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk.  I’m just drunk.   _

His throat hurt a little… Had he been shouting?  No matter.

Charles vaguely wondered if he could reach all the way up to Washington.  Admittedly, this Cerebro wasn’t as powerful as he’d envisioned, but there would be time.  

To his surprise, Charles found that he could in fact reach all the way to Washington DC.  With a little more effort than usual, he seized control of a security guard.

It felt so good to have complete control again, he thought.  He’d been so limited for so long in case someone noticed, but now...

Hijacking the man’s eyes, he looked around so see where he was.  He was in the middle of a long corridor, dimly lit by industrial bulbs.  Charles quickly checked where he was, pleased to find that he was in the Pentagon.   _ Goodbye New York, hello government secrets,  _ he thought.

As he stalked down the corridor, Charles realized what he had on his hands, or rather, his head.   _ With Cerebro, you wouldn’t need bombs, or spies. _

He also realized that he could never let Cerebro fall into anyone’s hands.  Not even his employers’.  

Deep in the basement of the Xavier mansion, Charles began to laugh.

  
  


Hank rolled over, momentarily drifting in and out of consciousness.  A throb to the head hit him and suddenly he was shocked awake.  Another painful throb let him know that he had a hangover.  A third told him that he would not be falling asleep any time soon.

With a frustrated groan, he pulled himself up and pulled on the pair of trousers he’d tossed aside along with his other clothes when he’d dragged himself into bed.

Hank rubbed his eyes and tried to brush his hair back from his eyes.  He groped around for the bedside table, sure he’d left a glass of water there.  

Nothing.  

Groaning again, he got up and shuffled to the door, loath to turn on the lights and burn his eyes.  

Once he’d gotten onto the landing, Hank made for the stairs.  The kitchen would have water, surely. 

It took him five minutes to get to the bottom of the stairs.  He blinked in the dark.  Which way was the kitchen again?  A faint yellow glow seemed to be shining around the corner.

In between the throbs of his headache, Hank wondered if Raven was up late snacking again. 

Surprisingly, the light was coming out from underneath a closed door.  That stumped him for a moment, then he remembered that the kitchen was only a few doors away, and he plodded off to get his water.  

 

Hank felt the water overflow the glass and he quickly set the cup down and turned off the tap.  Picking up the glass again, he took a sip.  It felt good.  Hank tipped back the glass.  Water spilled over the sides of the glass and down his neck and all over his chest.

He shivered and opened up the tap to refill the glass.  Then he walked back, passing the door with the light pooling behind it.

Then he realized.  That was the door to the bunker, wasn’t it?  

He opened it with a small creak and walked down the stairs, squinting at the light.  Where was the lightswitch anyway?

He reached the door at the bottom, and realizing that the light switch was actually at the top of the stairs he sighed and took a sip of water and rested against the steel door.  

He blinked.  Hank could’ve sworn he’d heard something from behind the thick door.   _ Well _ , he thought, taking another sip of water to calm his headache,  _ No harm in checking. _

He was stumped for a moment by the passcode for the door, but he remembered it after a couple of seconds.

“3...4...1...7,” he muttered, entering the code.

The door slid open and Hank walked in.  The lights weren’t on, but Hank thought he could hear whatever it was that he had heard before.  It sounded kind of like… whimpering.

Hank walked deeper into the bunker, determined to find the source of the noise.

In the dark, he nearly stumbled, and a little water spilled over the lip of his glass and onto the floor.  Water trickled between Hank’s toes.  

He rounded a corner, half paying attention to where he was going, half trying to keep his water from spilling.

Then Hank spotted a faint bluish light emanating from one of the rooms.  

If Hank had been any less drunk and hungover, he would have realized what the light meant, and that it was coming from the lab.

Hank edged closer to the source of the light, and the noise.

 

\---

 

Charles directed the security guard up the stairs and into the archives.  The pentagon, one of the most secure buildings on the planet, was a lot easier to navigate at night.  

For one, he was already inside, and two, he only had to instruct the guards that were monitoring the security cameras to look the other way, instead of also having to take control of mobs of tourists.

Charles didn't usually have to control this many for this long.  He could do two, maybe three people for about an hour, but that would leave his body completely defenseless, and if there was one thing Charles hated, it was being defenseless.

He pushed himself even harder.  He had to get this done before he lost his grip.

The guard snuck into the archives and hurried to the desk at the end, a large one that looked expensive enough for any executive, looking for an index.  Unsurprisingly, he only found vague mentions of what he was searching for.

On a hunch, and because he knew that Americans could be just as melodramatic as the Russians, he directed the guard to the bookshelf behind the desk and made him run his hand down the sides and over the backs of books.  Finally, as the portly man’s fingers were sliding down the crack between the case and the wall, he felt a small, circular ridge.  He forced the man to pushed down on it and he heard a satisfying  _ click _ .  

Something behind the bookcase shifted.  Excited, Charles used the man to pry the bookcase away from the wall.  Yes!  He’d been right in assuming that those funny ridges on the sides of the shelves were hinges.

The bookcase swung open with barely a creak and the guard crept inside.

Lights flickered on, illuminating three walls of files and recordings.

Files on the Soviet Union alone took up two of the walls.  Charles directed the guard to start searching for one file in particular.  

The guard pulled out the drawer labeled H flipped through to the end of  _ ha- _ .

_ Halloran…Hanell...Handel...Handler. _

_ Handler. _

Charles pulled out the file.  There was a single page inside.  It read:

_ Handler; handlers of all undercover agents in: _

_ Moscow: Box 18, fl. 27 _

_ Leningrad: Box 18, fl. 36 _

_ East Berlin: Box 18, fl. 12 _

The list went on and on, listing major Soviet cities and states.  Charles turned the guard’s head to face the left wall, then stood and walked over to it, pulling out what he now realized was box 18.  He rifled through the files, finally drawing out file 27 and pulling out the sheet of paper inside.

 

\---

 

Hank crept closer to the opening, treading especially lightly for someone so intoxicated.  That blueish light looked awfully like the lights he’d coupled up with Cerebro, but Hank was certain that they’d switched it off… hadn’t they…?

His head throbbed, and he took another sip of water.  He was almost to the open doorway when he heard the noise again.  

It wasn’t whimpering.  It was the quiet chuckle of a chessmaster catching a mouse in the endgame.  And it was a sound Hank thought he recognized.

Hank peeked around the corner.

There was a man, outlined in blue light, sitting in one of the hard metal chairs, gripping the armrests with white knuckled fingers.  His head was tilted back, Cerebro on, wires streaming from it on all sides.  He resembled a spider sitting in the center of his web.  

The blue light reflected off his throat and adam’s apple which bobbed up and down in near-silent laughter.

And Hank recognized him.  It was Charles.

It wasn’t like two puzzle pieces fitting together with a  _ click _ , it was the roar of two mountains colliding in an instant, pounding through his hangover.  Everything didn’t just fit into place, it was as if an illusion had shattered, revealing the truth that had been there the whole time.

The glass Hank had been holding slipped from his frozen fingers.  

There was a shattering so loud that it startled Hank into motion.  He needed to  _ tell _ someone.  A sharp pain pierced his foot.  His leg was speckled with blood.  The broken glass had sprayed everywhere, sharp splinters flying in all directions, and Hank’s feet had been in range.

Hank’s gaze snapped up to Charles.  Everything was eerily quiet.  With a silent curse, Hank realized that Charles had stopped his low chuckle, although he hadn’t moved.

He needed to  _ tell _ someone, he thought again.  Hank began to edge backward, towards wherever he had come.  Wherever that was…

His foot brushed against a piece of glass, that scraped and tinkled against the cold, hard floor.

 

\---

 

Charles used the guard’s eyes to scan the document.  It was a relatively short list of names, with another name, much more important, scribbled at the top.  

Suddenly, he heard something.  It sounded like the muted sound of a light bulb shattering.  It broke the complete silence of the empty Pentagon.  Charles wondered what could have caused the noise, and in doing so, his concentration slipped and he lost his hold on most of the security camera monitors.

_ Shit-damn damn damn-shit shit- Shit. _  He wasn’t going to be un-spotted now, and he very much doubted that he would be able to take hold of that many minds now that they were all alert.

Charles knew he’d have to pull out, and fast.  He looked back at the page, and at the name at the top.  

_ Victor Mallory _ .

He was the handler of more than a dozen agents stationed in and around Moscow.  Charles didn’t need to know who they were.  He was sure that this Mallory would give him everything he needed to know.

Without another thought, Charles planted some incriminating memories in the guard’s mind.  He was however, sure to make it contradict with several other memories so that any capable lawyer could argue a case where the end result was less than five years’ jail time.

Then he pulled out, partly annoyed at his failure to concentrate, and partly pleased at the information he’d gained.

 

Charles opened his eyes.  It was dark, save for the soft blue glow that barely illuminated the room.  

Charles pulled off Cerebro, noticing that his hands were shaking.  His telepathic range snapped back to its usual strength, like a rubber band.  Placing the helmet down gently on the table beside him, Charles stood up, still reeling from the shock of his fluctuating range.

Something flashed in the corner of his vision.  As he turned, Charles realised that the light had caught on something on the floor.

He strode over, and gazed down at his own face reflected in a pool of water.  His shoe crunched on something.  Broken glass.

_ Someone has been here, _ Charles realized with a jolt.  He cast his mind out, trying to find out who it was.  There would be hell to pay if whoever it was managed to tell anyone before he got to them.

Erik was in bed.  Alex was passed out on the couch in his room.  Emma and Raven were also asleep.  Hank.  Where was Hank?

Charles searched the mansion from top to bottom to no avail.  It was as if Hank had disappeared completely.  Unless… Unless he had a psion-blocking helmet.  

It seemed that  Charles hadn’t been monitoring everyone’s thoughts as carefully as he should’ve over the past few weeks.  

_ And the alcohol certainly won’t help find him _ , Charles thought, pulling out his pocket torch.  His sort of ‘telepathic sonar’ as he liked to call it only worked when he was concentrating especially hard, which was proving to be quite difficult as his thoughts kept returning to Victor Mallory and how to find him.

His light flared to life, illuminating the puddle and glass shards.  Charles spotted something dark on on the floor.  Blood.

Now that he looked closer, Charles could see little speckles of it dotting their way down the corridor.  Except, he thought, that wasn’t the way out of the bunker.  That went to the storage rooms.

That meant that there was still time.  Hank hadn’t told anyone.  There was still time.

\---

 

Hank scrambled into the storage room.  He was sure that it was behind a box here… somewhere.  He was so anxious that his pants were beginning to feel rather tight.  If Hank had been able to see himself, he would have known he was slowly turning blue.

He hadn’t been in his beast form since they’d been out in the snow and he’d gotten a cold which had lasted until everything had melted.  After that, he hadn’t wanted to go blue, no matter what Raven or Erik said.  Alex seemed to understand, which made sense seeing as he also had a history of not trusting himself with his power. 

Hank’s nails clawed at the back of a large box, reaching behind it.  Yes! The helmet was still here, thank God.

He slipped it on quietly and flipped on the switch at the back that would activate the battery pack.

Alright.  Now to find a way out of here.

Hank crept back out of the room, as silent as a windless night.

After half a dozen turns that led to dead ends, he realized that he was lost.  

He didn’t have time to worry however, because at that moment, he heard the soft pattering of leather shoes coming from the corridor over.  Hank darted into the nearest room, eyes raking it for somewhere to hide.  There was furniture all around it covered in sheets.  Hank spotted a desk in the corner, behind a bookcase and spare coffee table.

Then a light flashed in the hallway behind him.  Hank cast one more look at the darkened room with its high ceilings- the ventilation shaft just above him that he would never be able to fit into for a thousand years, then hurried as quickly and quietly as he could to his hiding spot.

 

\---

 

Charles swept into the room with unrivaled purpose.  The trail of blood led into this room.  The beam from his torch illuminated one of the many storage rooms that were in the bunker.  He glanced around at all the furniture covered in plain white sheets.  This would be the perfect place to hide.

Slowly and carefully, Charles made his way around the room, peering under sheets and finding only lampshades and couches and drawers each time.  Finally, his gaze, and his flashlight beam, fell upon a long dining table in the far corner.  It was partially obscured by several bookcases.  

Charles approached it quietly, averting the beam of the torch.  The sheets that covered the table reached to the floor.  Charles was only a few feet away.  He grasped the side of the sheet, dusty with years of neglect.  This was the perfect hiding place.

Charles tugged, whipping the light sheet from the table, preparing for Hank to leap out at him.

There was nothing under the table.  Charles let out a disgusted noise, then strode out of the room.  The trail ended as soon as he had walked through the the door.  Maybe Hank had doubled back on himself, pulling off a similar trick to the one Charles himself had pulled in the forest.

 

\---

  
  


Hank was hanging by his feet from the ventilation shaft, trying very hard not to breathe.  He waited for a full two minutes before getting down and sneaking out if the storage room.  That had been close. Too close.

He eased himself down the wall, dropping the last seven feet to the floor silently.  Then he saw his feet were still bleeding, effectively leaving a trail for Charles to follow.  He cursed silently, hurrying over to what appeared to be a garden statue and tearing off a strip of his cloth.  With brutal efficiency and his knowledge of the human body, he examined his foot.  He had completed his transformation into the beast, and now his eyesight had greatly improved, as had his sense of smell.  As he searched himself over to pull out any slivers of glass, he could smell the telepath’s scent- Charles’ scent.  It was a miracle that Charles had managed to hide from them for so long, Hank thought.  Hank extricated the last piece of glass from his feet and pulled the strip of sheet around his foot in a makeshift bandage.  That should keep him from bleeding.

As he snuck around the bunker, he began to recognize the rooms he was passing.  But where was the exit? he thought frantically.

He peered around corners and ducked into rooms whenever he heard the slightest noise.  Adrenaline rushed through his system as his heart thudded in his chest.  His headache wasn’t helping either.

Hank thought he heard something behind him.  Instinctively, he threw himself into the nearest room: the circular armory. 

Hank leapt silently across the room to a cupboard that he knew housed rifles and got inside.  The cupboard only held three rifles, and it had mostly been for display.  Hank closed the door from the inside.  

His heart leapt in his chest as he heard footsteps pass by the door with his heightened hearing.  Charles must have shone a flashlight around the room because light seeped through the crack in the cupboard door.  Hank held his breath.

Then the light vanished and he heard Charles pass.  

Hank looked to his left.  A brand new rifle looked back.  

He could end this all now.  Charles wouldn’t be able to see him in the dark as well as he could see Charles.  And he was silent.  Hank knew that he could easily get a shot off on Charles.  

But it was  _ Charles _ for fuck’s sake.  The man he’d ‘maybe’ dreamed about ever since he learned about him.  And the man who he couldn’t help falling for when they’d met. 

But he knew that he was being selfish.  There were more people who he cared about, and now that Charles had revealed his true colours, they took priority.

The barrel of the rifle felt cold against his fingers.  Hank had never killed anyone in his life.

 

Hank emerged from the cupboard thirty seconds later.  The cupboard held only three guns.  Hank snuck quietly on all fours towards the exit.  He thought he knew the way out from here.

He nearly sighed in relief when he saw the exit.  He rushed over, desperate to get upstairs and wake someone up.  He jammed in the code, 3417, and waited for the door to slide open while anxiously looking over his shoulder for Charles’ bobbing flashlight.

The door didn’t budge.  

Hank tried again.

Same result.

Fuck.  

Hank actually cursed out loud.

 

“I had to change it, Hank,” a soft voice called from behind.

Hank spun around, suddenly so tense he thought he was about to choke on his own heart.  Charles had managed to sneak up on him by turning off his flashlight.

He was trapped.

Double  _ fuck _ .

“You were the first to figure it out Hank.  I’m proud.  You’re absolutely brilliant,” Charles said.  Hank could see through the dark that he was smiling, abashed.

Anger seared in his chest.  How  _ dare _ Charles say that after all he’d done? “And you’re a fucking bastard.” Hank retorted, backing away, so that he was right up against the wall.

“Hank.  You must understand,” Charles said, drawing ever closer, “that I was only doing my  _ job _ .”

“Get the  _ fuck _ away from me Charles,” Hank warned.

“You  _ cannot _ be allowed to win this war, Hank,” Charles said.  At ‘Hank’, he lunged forward.  

The two of them grappled, Charles trying to reach for the helmet, and Hank trying to stop him.  Somewhere in there, Charles managed to get a knee in Hank’s groin.  The taller man fell, but he had enough sense to place a hand protectively on the psion-helmet.  While Hank was on the ground, Charles tried to pry it off, but soon discovered that Hank’s one hand was stronger than both of his.

Charles had forgotten about Hank’s other hand, which came sweeping around his ankles, knocking him to the floor where he landed on his side.  Now Hank was on his feet.  

He had remarkable constitution getting up from a shot to the balls so quickly, Charles thought as his ‘friend’ beat the living shit out of him.

Charles threw out an arm haphazardly and managed to tangle up Hank’s legs so that he toppled over again.  Now they were both on the floor, wrestling for control of the situation.  Charles’ fingers scrabbled over the back of the helmet.  He thought he felt something, but then Hank was on top of him, crushing the wind from his lungs with vicious punches.  

Something inside Charles cracked, startling both of them.  A brief look of horror crossed Hank’s face at what he’d done.  Charles recovered first, spurred on by shock and the beginnings of pain, and he reached up to the back of Hank’s neck, pulling him down into his deadly embrace.  He wrapped his legs around Hank’s torso and reached for the helmet.

Hank had recovered too, and was holding the helmet on with both hands.  Charles knew he’d never be able to get it off him.  Hank’s elbows were digging into his chest, the beast’s full weight behind them.  Charles roared in pain, frantically raking his hands over the helmet until he found the  _ something  _ on the back of the helmet.

Whimpering, he used his last ounce of concentration to tear out the wire from the battery pack.  Hank’s helmets had been experimental, whereas the ones Charles was used to had their power supply in the helmets just behind the ears.

Charles slumped to the floor, relaxing.  

_ I’m sorry Hank. _

 

Hank felt something tug on the back of his helmet, then the pressure was gone.  He tried lashing out an arm to rake Charles across the face, but for some reason, it flopped to his side uselessly.

_ I’m sorry Hank _ , came Charles’ voice in his head sounding as if he were speaking from inside his ear.

Hank’s eyes widened, and as if by a flick of a switch, Hank crumpled into Charles’ chest, head flopping helplessly onto a point over Charles’ heart.  He didn’t find the quick, rythmic  _ thump-ump _ comforting at all.  His head rose and fell in time with Charles’ near-hysterical laughter.  Next to him, Hank saw something laying on the ground.  The battery pack.  A well of anguish blossomed at the base of his throat, but he had no time to-

 

\---

 

Emma was having a nice dream.  She was walking down a long wooden hall in socks.   _ Slip-slide, slip-slide _ .  Beside her, she felt Raven’s fingers on her palm.  Water sloshed in the fountain outside an open window.  The wind blew in gently, fluttering the light curtains.  Emma thought she could hear Erik laughing outside.

Then things took a turn.  As Emma turned back to the hallway, the door knob at the end of the hall rattled.  She moved forward to investigate, not noticing that Raven was no longer holding her hand.

_ Slip-slide.  Slip-slide. _

There was a faint scratching, like knives raking across gravel.  Emma peered into the keyhole.  A single eye peered back.  It was wearing half of a pair of glasses, but the face around it was bright blue.

“Hank?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Please Emma open the door I need to tell you something but you aren’t letting me in help me I need your help-” came the monotonous hurried whisper.  It was Hank’s voice.

Emma twisted the door handle and it opened with a satisfying  _ click _ .  Wind blew it open with the ferocity of a furious gale, cutting through Emma’s light clothes and leaving her cold with fear and dread. 

Hank was lying on the ground outside, bleeding onto the expensive carpet.  Emma screamed, and Hank’s white eyes locked onto hers as he moaned, “Charles.  It’s true.  Everything is true.  He’s got me.  Help me.  Help me!  HELP ME.   _ HELP ME _ !  It’s CHARLES!”

Emma slammed her palms against heh ears trying to block out Hank’s screams, but even as she did, the cries kept getting louder.

_ CHARLESCHARLESCHARLESCHARLESCHARLESCHARLESCHARLESCHARLES _ -

Suddenly the whole world went completely silent.

Something was pulling at her neck.  Everything was too hot, and she was sweating.  Emma lurched awake with a silent sonic boom, half strangled by her bedsheets.  She pulled them off frantically.  Hank… Was he alright or was it just more than just a dream?  

Emma nearly fell off her bed, pulling a nightgown around herself.  After a moment her skin seemed to glaze over, coalescing into diamond.  She slipped out of the bedroom and across the hall to Hank’s room.  She stopped dead as she saw the empty bed, breath trying to do a U-turn in her throat.

Emma practically burst into Erik’s room, shaking him awake.  His eyes flew open and he reached forward as if to grasp her by the neck before realizing it was her.

“Emma- What?” he demanded, sitting up hastily.  Emma was busy rummaging under the bed.  She pulled out Erik’s helmet and tossed it to him.

“Put it on,” she ordered, and Erik was so shocked by the anxiety in her voice that he obeyed without question.  She breathed a sigh of relief.  “I've just had a message from Hank saying he's in trouble.  He said it was Charles and I'm  _ so sure _ that he's the telepath and you've  _ got _ to listen to me because he's not in his bed and  _ I know that it was him _ ,” she babbled, almost hysteric.  Pieces were slotting together as she’d hoped they wouldn't and holy  _ shit _ how had she let Charles, the telepath slip by her?  “Erik he's the  _ fucker _ who attacked you before!”

Erik rubbed his eyes, looking reluctant.  “Are you sure?  We’ve been over this-”

“Hank contacted me in a dream.  His mental screams were loud enough that instead of me reaching out to him, he reached out to me.  He said it was Charles.  Erik you can't just do nothing.  This is a clear-”

Erik’s eyes widened and he placed a hand over his mouth, pointing to the door.  Emma's eyes widened as Erik pulled off the helmet and pulled away his hand, walking over to the door.  He pulled it open.

Erik’s eyes flashed as he saw two figures coming down the hall.  Alex as walking in front, followed by a morose Charles.  He was instantly on guard.  Maybe Emma was right after all.

“Hank,” he whispered loudly.  “Charles.  What are you two doing up so late?” he asked.

Hank looked at him as if he were slightly dazed.  Behind him Charles was frowning.  “I was getting water,” Hank said nonchalantly.  

“He kind of walked in on me eating the rest of Miss Anne’s cake,” Charles said, looking slightly embarrassed. 

“Right,” Erik said, taking note of the way Charles’ breathing was short and how Hank’s eyebrows were a few millimeters away from becoming a frown.  

He stepped out of the way, and the two others walked further down the hallway in silence.  

Through the darkness, Erik saw Charles turn back.  The moonlight seeped in through the window, sketching his face.  Charles’ eyes seemed to glow from under his unkempt hair.  

His eyes were very different from the ones Erik had seen just a few hours ago.  They knew everything.

“Isn’t your room on the other side of the house?”  Erik asked.

Charles turned to him, suddenly very still.  Erik heard the way Charles’ breath quickened.  “Hank has had a bit too much to drink, as have I,” he said shortly.  Hank nodded stiffly.  “I wanted to make sure he didn’t trip and hit himself on his bedside table,” Charles continued with a laugh.

Even to Erik, the excuse sounded weak, but he nodded, smiling along with his friend.  “Stay safe,” he said, patting Hank on the shoulder.  He whispered a goodnight to them both, then pulled back behind the door and into his room.

Erik closed the door silently, and the room went completely dark, the only light now coming from under the door. 

“What happened?” came Emma’s whisper.  

“I think,” Erik said, pulling the metal helmet towards him and slipping it on, “It might not have been a dream.”  He paused.  “But Emma.  He’s my best friend.  Charles would never… I just can’t find it in myself to think of him… that way.”

“Erik.  I know.  But you have to trust me when I say that Charles is not the man you think he is.  We have to stop him now before it’s too late.  All the evidence-”

“Emma.  There  _ is _ no fucking evidence.”

“What’re you going to do then?” Emma hissed, slapping Erik’s shoulder.  “Wait for him to spin webs around you and keep you blind until he can pull a string and you’ll jump over the God-damned moon for him?”  She sounded practically hysterical.

“No… but there has to be a way of finding out the truth once and for all…” Erik trailed off.  He sounded like he was waiting for Emma to add something, but she didn’t.  Emma had noticed that Erik had gone completely still, and she knew he was deep in thought.

“I think,” Erik said, turning to face her in the dark, “I have an idea.  I'm going to figure out the truth once and for all.”

 

\---

 

Charles directed Hank into his room distractedly.  Erik seemed… suspicious of him, but all that alcohol was preventing him from thinking straight.  Even now, he was struggling to maintain his hold over Hank.  He needed peace and quiet to work his mental magic, but he had had to wait for Hank’s serum to take effect.  Charles may have been drunk, but he knew better than to mess around Hank’s mind while he was changing forms.  He’d never done it before, so he had no idea what would happen.

But he had to be quick. Something, probably instinct, although he was feeling too tipsy to tell, was niggling at him to hurry.

The moment he pulled Hank’s door closed behind me, he rushed over to the bed where he’d made Hank lie down.  He was stirring slightly, as if he’d been hit over the head and was having trouble thinking.  

Charles flicked on the lamp that was sitting on Hank’s bedside table.  A warm yellow glow washed over his face, and Erik saw Hank’s pupils attempt to focus on him.

All of a sudden, Charles felt his confidence bubble in his stomach.  He was in control now.  Nothing could stop him.  And so, although he didn’t need to, he issued mental commands with his voice as well as his mind.  

“Sleep,” Charles said, watching in pleasure as Hank’s eyes rolled up and back.  He brushed the man’s eyelids closed, then ran his fingers into Hank’s hair.  

Physical contact wasn’t necessary, but Charles found that it helped him concentrate.  It gave him something to focus on, which he definitely needed now.

Charles was past words.  He brushed through all of Hank’s most recent memories, selecting the ones to bury deep and hide.  When Charles was done, Hank wouldn’t remember anything of what happened down in the bunker.  

He paused.  Charles hated things that were permanent, like life and death and to a certain extent mutually assured destruction, so he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hide Hank’s memories so thoroughly that they would never resurface.  The bubbling feeling returned as he created a mental safe within Hank’s imagination.  Stacking the memories into it, he set the lock code: lilovyy.  Charles doubted anyone would say ‘violet’ in Russian around Hank any time soon.

Charles spent another few minutes fabricating false memories of Hank discovering him eating cake in the dead of night, then withdrew.

Hank looked positively tranquil lying on the bed like that.

_ And that is how it should be,  _ Charles thought with an inward sigh.  The bubbles of giddiness with his own power had long since evaporated.  Now he only felt the drive of his mission.  

 

\---

 

Erik woke early the next morning, his plan firmly in his head.  He’d barely slept the night before, nerves zinging with excitement, fear and dread.  Was Charles the telepath?  It was as if tiny voices were incessantly screaming “Yes!” and “No!” and everything in between.  Moreover, did he  _ want _ to find out?  The telepath hadn’t attacked since Washington, so why would he strike again?  Charles hadn’t done anything to him… had he?

Doubt gnawed in his stomach.

He snuck over to Emma’s room and woke her up.  She immediately went to tell the others of the plan, although not Hank.  She wasn’t sure she could trust him after last night’s premonition.

Erik meanwhile, was creeping into Charles’ room, which was only a few shades lighter than pitch black.  The sun had not yet risen.  Charles was sprawled on the bed, half under and half on top of his thick and squishy covers.  He looked so at peace except for his clenched jaw, Erik noticed.  Gently, the mutant worked his hands under Charles to-

“Erik?” came Charles’ sleepy voice.  “What’re you up to?” he asked almost incoherently.  He rolled over.

Erik’s blood ran cold.  He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but if he  _ thought  _ about not wearing a helmet, Charles- if he really was the telepath -would know that he was thinking about it and the whole plan would be ruined.

“Um…” Erik began, trying to focus on the sound of his own voice.  “I wanted to show you something,” he said.  Oh he was  _ really _ bullshitting it now.  Charles was supposed to be asleep for this part.  

Charles frowned and sat up.  Almost immediately, he raised a hand to his head.  He breathed a heavy sigh.  “Quite a hangover,” he stated, getting up.  “What was it you wanted to show me?” he asked in a slightly pained voice.

“C’mon.  You’ll see,” Erik said, taking Charles by the hand.  He almost blushed and hoped that his hand wouldn’t start sweating.  Behind him, Charles squinted and a tiny smile crossed his face.  Erik’s emotions were so loud that he could hear them even when he had such a dreadful headache.

Erik pulled him playfully downstairs, trying to keep his anxiety to a minimum.  Emma, Alex and Raven were milling about downstairs quietly, shooting Erik frantic looks of  _ Why is he awake?  _ through the kitchen door. __ Charles, concentrating more on the feeling of Erik’s hand over his, did not notice.

It was only when Erik pulled open the door to the basement that Charles pulled his hand away.  “Where are we going?” he asked, more seriously this time. 

Erik had a pleading look in his eye, and Charles felt a great swell of pain from his friend, although the headache prevented him from learning the reason.  “Charles trust me,” he said, smiling.

Charles took a breath then nodded, following Erik down into the bunker.  He hoped that Erik hadn't somehow discovered about the disturbance of the previous night.  He would hate to have to alter Erik's memories, although, he realized with a wince, he’d probably enjoy it an awful lot.

Erik noticed a small look of guilt in Charles’ eyes as he led him further into the metal maze.  He led Charles to one of the back rooms, one that had been used as a storage room until Hank had cleared it out looking for materials.

Charles looked over Erik’s shoulder as he fiddled with the door handle.  Erik opened it and gestured for Charles to enter.  “Ladies first,” he said with half a grin.

Charles snorted and walked inside.  To his slight surprise, Erik didn't follow.  Charles turned to make some joke about his slowness, and found that the door had swung closed behind him.  Charles saw Erik through the small window in the door.  Charles started to laugh nervously as he heard the lock click.  

“Erik?  What-” Charles stumbled backwards as if he'd been struck in the gut, groin and face at the same time.  It was like a rubber band snapping back on his mind- 

And suddenly the whole world was dark.

There was no outside happiness or pain, and Charles was alone in his head and the world.  

He turned in horror back to the small window where Erik's face was harshly framed in the beams of the bunker lights.

Erik looked back at him, part of him concentrating on maintaining the magnetic field around the storage room, part of him looking for a sign that Charles had been telepathically cut off from his surroundings.

He saw Charles stumble, then freeze.  Then Charles’ head snapped up to his and look at him for what seemed to be forever.  Something flashed in the other man’s eyes, realization.  

“Erik,  what are you doing?” Charles asked, slightly shakily.

Erik sighed, hating himself.  “You  _ are _ the telepath,” he said.  

Charles didn't move.  Then he regained most of his composure.  “Erik, that's crazy…  why would I ever?  This is absurd!” he shouted.  He sounded so different from the Charles he knew- the Charles he thought he'd known.

Erik could feel tears burning in his eyes.  “Charles how  _ could you _ ?” he shouted through the glass.

Charles stiffened, breathing fast.  “I-” he began, about to tell another lie.  Then the crushing weight of absolute nothing- no external senses, no other thoughts swirling around him comfortingly hit him fully.  

Charles threw his full weight against the door.  Nothing.  He battered himself on it twice more then withdrew.  Nothing.

Charles set a finger to his temple, in the childish gesture he'd used back when his power was weak and fleeting.  Nothing.

“Admit that you’re the telepath!”

Fires blazed in Charles’ eyes.  He’d always prided himself on his unbreakable willpower that could conquer any mind, but now he was nothing.  What was the point anyway?  Erik already knew.  

“Fuck the Americans,” Charles spat.  

He made the childish gesture again, with both hands, pushing forward as if to fling his mind through this invisible barrier and into Erik, his friend  _ who had betrayed him. _

_ Betrayed him. _

_ Robbed him of everything. _

Charles shrieked in frustration, trying to tear with thin fingers at the glass window in the door.  

Erik had tears in his eyes, a look of horror on his face.  “I don’t believe this,” he whispered.  Charles was slamming his fists against the door window.  “I don’t  _ believe  _ this.”  Erik took a step backward, looking away from the frantic face in the window, the face of a fanatic he’d thought he could trust.

There were footsteps coming towards him.  Erik turned and fled, pushing past Raven, Alex and Emma, trying to hide his face so that they wouldn’t see him crying.

Erik ran up to his room like a child who didn’t know who to blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while writing this chapter, I finally watched First Class and Days of Future Past and WOW did that clear up a lot. It also told me that Emma can use her powers even while she's on diamond mode, but tHerE’S nO gOinG bACk nOw. I do wish I could incorporate the rest of the xm:fc gang though…… *winks* or maybe I already have…. Anyway, hope you enjoyed the plotful update, more stuff to follow soon!


	9. In All Honesty

Erik rubbed his eyes.  He hadn’t been asleep, he’d just been closing his eyes, trying to rationalize that his best friend in all the world had lived him a lie.  Dried tears had glued his eyes shut hours ago, but he hadn’t been asleep.  He  _ couldn’t  _ sleep.

Erik, unlike Emma, could maintain his power while he slept, as long as he wasn’t changing something.  

Telepathy required fluidity in thoughts, action and reaction to maintain surveillance or control.  Erik’s power did not.  He needed willpower to keep something the same, like the magnetic field Charles’ mind was trapped in, and willpower was the one thing which he was never short of.

The idea to trap Charles in the magnetic field had come to him almost too easily, as if his subconscious had known that Charles had been a traitor all along.  Erik was thankful that the mansion had a convenient underground metal bunker, although he’d never imagined that he’d end up using it as a prison.

Downstairs, Hank and Emma were arguing.   _ Probably about what happened last night _ , Erik thought idly, picking out some sleep from his eyelashes.  

_ What the fuck am I going to do _ ? Erik wondered, sitting up.  He was still shaking.  Erik looked over to his bedside table, where he’d lain the psion-helmet.

There was one way to find out the answers, but he was determined not to take it for as long as possible.  

Erik went downstairs, already making preparations for the true mission at hand.

 

Alex spent the next few weeks training for the impending invasion of Cuba.  Charles’ capture had taken him by surprise, but now it seemed like old news.  They would take turns feeding him.  Every morning,  either Alex, Emma or Raven would don a helmet, make sure it was on, then unlock the door to Charles’ room.  Hank wasn’t allowed to, and Erik started shaking every time Charles was mentioned.  Erik had assured them that the magnetic field would still be in place even if the door was open, and that none of Charles’ telepathic waves would be able to escape.

The first few times, Charles had tried to attack them, but he was so shaken that he could barely stand.  Emma had backhanded him into the wall once, but Alex had had a hard time fending off Charles.  It wasn’t a physical problem, it was more that he was still in shock and didn’t understand why the man who had promised to buy him a car would be a traitor.

Over the first few days however, Charles had hardened like a shell, not moving or talking, simply sitting up against the steel walls like a sad man’s stone carving.  Maybe he was only like that when his captors came by, or maybe he just sat in silence all day, thinking.

Twice a day, someone would slide a bucket into the room for Charles to relieve himself in.  Charles wouldn’t make a move on it until they left.  Once every three days, someone would come in with a long hose.  Charles refused to take his clothes off, so he would sit shivering in a corner for hours after his ‘shower’ in cold and wet clothes.

To everyone’s eyes, Charles Xavier was waiting to die.

 

\---

 

Erik levitated a couple discs into the air, flinging them like sideways frisbees.  Alex took a breath and let his power loose.  A bright burst of energy erupted from his chest.  Alex aimed the beam into the frisbees’ flight paths, grinning in satisfaction when they practically blew apart.  

Erik launched another couple, calling out, “Burst!”

Alex cut the stream, then shot a contained burst at each of the disks.  One hit a disk dead center, the other hit an edge, causing the disk to spin and flip around in the air.

“Again!  Burst!”

\---

 

Emma was glaring down the barrel of a rifle.  She took a breath and fired.  The bullet hissed out of the gun and sunk itself deeply into a thick block of wood marked with a target ring.  Nearly dead center.  Emma reloaded quickly, taking barely a second before firing again.

On the other side of the circular training room, Raven was snapping kicks from a dozen martial arts onto a practice dummy suspended from a makeshift hangman platform.

The straw dummy hung pitifully by its neck.  Someone had scrawled  _ Professor X _ onto its chest.

 

\---

 

Hank sat outside, overlooking the grounds.  Spring was just about to set in along with mild breezes and blossoming flowers.  The grass had never been greener.  Hank sipped on something that tasted mildly alcoholic.  He’d completed his daily training routine hours ago, and now he had all the time in the world to reflect and think.  

Time to think about Charles, who everyone said was actually a Soviet, a lying bastard and possibly the worst scum of the earth.  Time to think about what the others had said, that he had been brainwashed, that his memory had been altered, that Charles had attacked him.  

Perhaps the scariest thing was that Hank  _ knew _ that it hadn’t happened, there was no  _ way _ that that could have happened.  Hank remembered that he’d gone downstairs for water, seen Charles eating cake, laughed a bit while trying not to remember how handsome the other could be, and walked up to Hank’s room with him and had a nice chat about the Lockheed Hank would be working on.

If everyone was saying that Hank was wrong and that they had proof of it because  _ Charles had admitted to being the telepath _ , why was Hank so sure that it wasn’t the case?  

If Charles had altered him in any way, was he still Henry McCoy?

_ How can I trust myself if everyone is telling me I can’t? _

Hank took another long sip of his drink, then stood up.  The birds were too loud, too happy.  

He sauntered inside through the glass door that led to the kitchen.  Erik was pouring out a glass of wine.  

“You know Erik, I think I’ll go to the warehouse tomorrow.”

Erik nodded in understanding.  “It’s because of the Professor, right?”

No one called Charles by his real name anymore.

“Yeah,” Hank replied.

 

\---

 

April

Erik was shaking again.  It wasn’t that the strain of maintaining the magnetic field was finally getting to him, it only made him tire slightly faster.  He couldn’t take all the stress from  _ inside _ anymore.  He needed answers- he needed someone to blame.  Whenever he had gone down to feed Charles, which he had started doing, Charles had stared at him accusingly, as if  _ he _ were the one responsible.  

Charles hadn’t spoken a word.

Erik found himself down in the basement just outside Charles’ cell.  He peered in through the window, comforted by the cool metal of the helmet against his head.  Charles was lying on his side in a corner, turning a page of one of the books they’d let him have.  He must have read them at least ten times by now.  In the opposite corner was a plastic bag.  It held three sets of clothes, ten books, a notebook and some pens.  There was also a towel that Charles was using as a pillow.

Charles twitched when Erik opened the door, but otherwise did nothing. 

“I’ve come for answers,” Erik said.

Charles appeared not to have heard him.

“Why are you with the Soviets?” Erik demanded, stalking over so he was looming over the professor.  “They’re the…” Erik faltered, words failing to describe the horrendous things they’d done.

The professor’s face hardened, but he still didn’t look up from his book,  _ The Fourth Agent _ .  

“Tell me the truth, Professor, or I swear I’ll-”

“Professor?”  Xavier coughed, his voice hoarse with disuse. 

Erik didn’t realize he’d kicked the professor until the man on the floor roared in pain.  “The truth,” Erik insisted.

Charles looked up, his eyes flaming.  He set a finger to his temple, then frowned as if he’d lost something precious, which he had.  “Damn it, I seem to keep on forgetting that I don’t have my powers,” he said.  “In fact,” he continued sarcastically, “the only thing I  _ do  _ remember is that I have no reason to tell you a single thing.”  Charles plastered a false grin over his face, knowing how it unnerved Erik.

Erik’s lips tightened, and he kicked Charles again, this time in the stomach.  He reached down and pulled Charles up by the collar.  “The truth,” he repeated.

“The whole truth?”

Erik nodded.

“No thanks.”

Erik flung Charles across the room, pulling out a coin from his pocket.  He was so angry, he could have sunk it into his body a hundred different times.  Then he remembered himself and settled for a hard kick in the groin.  Charles, already pitiful, whimpered as he clutched himself on the floor.  

Seeing the professor like this, so different from the Charles from before pushed Erik over the edge.  He began mercilessly beating at the telepath’s ribs, somehow taking pleasure in the small screams of pain he heard.  Charles deserved all of it for what he had done.

After only a few hits, Erik realized what he was doing.   _ I came here for answers, not a punching bag,  _ he thought.  He let go of Charles, who was curled into a protective ball.

“Control is a flighty thing,” Charles groaned, uncurling.  “And don’t bother saying sorry.  Even without,” his voice faltered, “my power,” he continued, “I know you don’t mean it.”  Charles cleared his throat.  “Besides.  However bad you think you are, the… Komitet- the KGB are worse.  Much worse.”

“Answers.”

“I’ll feed it to you in crumbs.”

Charles sat up slowly as if cold had seeped into his bones.  He glared Erik in the eyes.  As much as he hated to tell the truth, he couldn’t stand  _ not _ talking to someone- not getting emotional feedback from someone.

“I have a mission.  I could have completed it a long time ago, you would have been under my thumb as easy as flicking a switch,” Charles began in a low, monotone voice.  “I would have had everything.  Your thoughts, your mind… your body,” Charles paused, pinching his lips in a smirk.  “But you know what?”  Charles’ voice rose in self-depreciation.  “I wanted  _ more _ .”  He took a long breath.  “And it’s just so unfair,” he finished with a sigh.

“But that’s not the whole story I suppose,” he said, “You wanted to know why I’m with the Soviets?” he coughed.  “Because when the war ended, they were the ones that had suffered the most-”

“Stalin was a murderer.”

“I  _ know _ .  I infiltrated the KGB to try and ’change his mind’ or so to speak.  I climbed their ranks easily, made ‘friends’ with the right people, but by the time I was at the top, Stalin was gone.”  Charles laughed dryly.  “Khrushchev… he’s better.  And he believes in equality- something you Americans can’t understand,” he said bitterly.

“So you don’t believe in freedom.”

Charles burst out laughing.  It sounded eerie, going from a soft chuckle to an outright laugh.  It echoed around the cold room for longer than it should have.  

“I’ve spent nearly my whole life twisting people around my finger, Erik.” 

Erik flinched when the professor said his name.

“And I know that every single person I’ve touched with my powers never missed their freedom.”

“You’re a control freak!” Erik accused.

Charles tilted his head to the side as if it were obvious.  “You know the saying, ‘bystanders are guilty’?” Charles asked dryly.  “I grew up in a world where I heard everyone’s problems.  I could…” Charles made a gripping motion with his fists.  “Make it right, just by thinking.”

Erik locked his jaw.  

“And you!  Oh...you…” Charles rasped.  “You know I blamed myself for your leaving.  We were so rich.  I could have helped you.  My powers set in almost immediately after you left.  I could have convinced mother to help you.  And yet…”

Erik felt a heavy stone of dread drop on his shoulders.  Was it really all his fault that Charles had turned out this way?  

Charles paused.  “And yet, I didn’t.”  He brushed his long hair out of his eyes.  “Nothing happens if I don’t let it.”

There was no response from Erik.  

“Talk, damnit!”  Charles shouted, lashing out with a foot.  He calmed down quickly.  “Do you know what it’s like?  To not have your powers?  It’s like I know I’m missing something- I’m missing  _ EVERYTHING _ \- but I can’t tell what it is!”  

Erik didn’t speak.

Charles’ rage was back.  He pushed himself up the wall.  “One day, when I escape and track you down, I will kick you down into the dirt.  I will walk up to you.  I will kneel beside you and run my fingers up your neck until they reach that worthless piece of metal you think will protect you.”  Charles sighed, sliding down the wall with his eyes closed, smiling.  “I’ll crouch and whisper into your ear something you don’t understand, and you’ll be so afraid, you will cry.  Then I’ll pull off that helmet…” Charles stopped.

“And you’ll be unhappy,” Erik realized.

Charles said nothing.

Erik waited for a minute, and when Charles made no attempt to continue the conversation, he made his way out of the room silently.

Their meeting had raised questions, but also provided answers.

 

\---

 

“You still haven’t given the reason you’re still with the Soviets.  Stalin died almost ten years ago, you would’ve been what, twenty?  What made you stay? ”  Erik asked.  He was back in the cellar again, helmet firmly on his head, and the question of what had made Charles ‘go Soviet’, as Raven had put it, had been eating at his stomach.  It had been a week since Erik had kicked Charles’ balls in, and he’d convinced himself through the bitterness and dread settling in his heart that he was calm enough to go in for another round of verbal abuse in search of the truth.

Charles was sitting with his back against the wall, arms crossed.  “The system, I suppose.  Communism is a rather fine idea, and you could say it fits with me.”

A smile broke across Erik’s face and he laughed.  “You’re joking, right?  You don’t really think that that’s the best way to… whatever it is you want, do you?”

The eyes that had gone wide at the sight of Erik’s smile narrowed again.  “I’m serious.  Everyone does their fair share, everyone gets their fair share, no exploitation and pure equality.”

“Tell that to the people who are dead because of it,” Erik said, his face falling.

“And I suppose you think capitalism is the mutants’ diamonds in the pig trough,” Charles said.

Erik’s eyes were like cold steel again.  “We can show other people that mutants are  _ just _ as good as regular humans.  We can show them that we can be  _ better _ .”

Charles took a moment to digest this.  “You know the saying, ‘the tallest nail gets hammered down first’?  These powerful mutants, they’ll generate fear.  ‘That’s not fair,’ the people will say.  ‘John Smith can create fire from his hands, no wonder his steam line is the fastest.’  ‘He’ll steal your jobs,’ they’ll say, ‘We’ll have to work for him!’ and ‘What if he doesn’t have our best interests at heart?’ ‘he’s not a normal human like us, is he?’  ‘What if he goes  _ crazy _ ?.”  Charles shook his head.  “Pretty soon they’ll start saying things like, ‘He’ll come for your children.’  ‘He’ll burn them up.’  ‘We can’t let  _ anyone _ like him do  _ anything _ like that,’ they’ll say, and then the humans will kill them all.  That’s how the Holocaust started; people were afraid that ‘those rich Jews’ were a world apart from the ‘regular folk’- they stopped believing that they were actually humans, and it only took a little convincing for people to start believing they were monsters.  Is that what you want, Erik?”

Erik was at a loss for words.  Memories were flooding back to him, unsweeping from under the rug of time.  What Charles was saying made a twisted sort of sense, but Erik just  _ knew _ that he himself couldn’t be wrong.

“Just because it happened in the past, doesn’t mean we’ll just sit by and let it happen in the future,” he countered finally.

“But it seems to be keeping you from seeing a better option.”

“You mean communism.”

“Well, yes.”

Erik shook his head.  “It hasn’t exactly worked out so far has it?”

“Neither have America’s civil rights.”

Erik was struck with an odd sense of clarity.  Before Charles had been unmasked, Erik would never have been able to talk with him like this.  But now, they were talking about  _ real _ things,  _ real _ problems.  

Erik didn’t notice that he’d drifted into silence, and was startled out of it when Charles asked bitterly, “How did you catch me?”

“Huh?” 

Charles gave Erik a scathing look.  “I’ve been racking my brains wondering how you’ve created this… electromagnetic field around me.  The mansion generator wouldn’t be able to produce this much power, and no one’s powers can do it.”

“Oh.”  Erik smiled, suddenly brimming with pride and confidence.  “I did.  My powers,” he finished, intending to leave it there and to have Charles go mad from guessing what it was.  Although they were now technically talking again, Erik felt only the tiniest flicker of pity for the man who was working against the freedom of the western world, and that was because he’d thought he’d known him.

Charles was brighter than he’d thought.  After a moment, his frown melted into a smile.  “Oh,” he said, laughing.  “Of course.  You aren’t a telekinetic.  You control magnetism.”  Charles’ smile grew wilder and more unhinged as he saw shock flit across Erik’s eyes and mouth.

“There’s a reason the Soviets sent me instead of some other telepath, Erik.”

“They didn’t know we were-?”

Charles laughed.  “They had no idea we were friends,” he said.  

“Then…” Erik puzzled, “why did you accept the job?”

Charles cocked an eyebrow.  “Sneaky,” he said, “trying to get me to reveal what my mission was.  Let’s just say that I didn’t want to have to deal with a Russian fuck-up halfway across the world when another telepath took the job.”

“So you’re saying Russia hires mutants?” Erik said incredulously.  Charles had suggested something similar before, but Erik had to be sure.

“The Americans are behind in the race, I’m afraid.  Last I checked, the government is keeping your department under tight wraps.  Practically no one knows it exists- you only have seven real employees, the smallest little office, and the government doesn’t recognize mutants at all.  Only a select few in the Executive Branch actually know of your existence.”  Charles pulled his towel pillow close, as if he were suddenly cold.  “Soviets have had their mutant task-force for a  _ long _ time.”

“You’re not on it?” Erik asked, having noticed Charles’ use of “their”, now more intrigued than angry.  

“I work better alone.  Less messy.”  

Erik thought he heard a different connotation under Charles’ words.  Not less messy, Erik thought,  _ Fewer people get hurt. _

For the first time in nearly a month of Charles’ incarceration, Erik felt a twinge of guilt, which quickly became a struggle to control his battling emotions.  

On the one hand, Charles was evil, or as close to evil as Charles could get to Schmidt without murdering his family.  He’d betrayed them, lied countless times and attacked Erik and Hank.  On the other hand, they’d been friends once, and Erik couldn’t believe that Charles had completely abandoned that part of himself- after all, he’d had time to act, and yet here Erik was.  Safe, for the most part.  

Charles chuckled quietly on the floor, as if he knew that even without his powers, he still held too much sway over Erik’s emotions.

Erik looked back into Charles’ eyes and sighed.  A fierce fire still burned behind his eyes, and the telepath’s face was one of pure malice.

 

\---

 

Charles was always cold.  His mind felt constantly numb and alone.  The few humans he saw lacked a sort of colour of character, and it was hard to tell what people were thinking.  Of course it was.

Charles could usually tell a lot from a person’s facial expression, but without his power it felt as if people had just stopped smiling or frowning.  It took extra effort to decipher people’s meanings.

Having no human contact wasn’t helping either.  Everyone who came in had a face that was hard.  They never spoke.  

He thought he was going mad.  Charles hadn’t been alone in his head since that one winter in deepest darkest Russia, and even then, he’d felt minds just out of his reach- he hadn’t been alone.  It had been calming, not to have to listen to everyone's’ worries, but as Charles reflected on his experiences in Siberia, he knew for certain that this kind of silence, the silence of his mind breaking itself on the walls of his steel cell, was too eerie and empty.

Would he go mad?  Charles knew that it was a distinct possibility.  Without other minds to anchor his moral compass, Charles’ could easily deviate from what could be called ‘sane’.

He enjoyed his little talks with Erik.  It was simultaneously calming and amusing to lead him around on an emotional leash and watch him chase his tail in frustration.  Part of him felt a little empty at it, but he couldn’t deny that it was comforting to regain a small measure of control over the world around him.

All the same, he thought, deprivation was a kind of torture that he hadn’t dabbled with before.  He wasn’t sure how long it would be until he spilled everything.

 

\---

 

Erik was dreaming.  He  _ must  _ be dreaming.  Charles was on the lawn in front of him, the light was clear and golden in his hair.  Then the ground at his feet began to freeze.  The blades of grass frosted over underfoot and Erik shivered.  A snowflake blew into his eye, and as he closed his them to blink it out, the world tilted.  When Erik opened his eyes again, he was in Congress.  The President was in front of him, talking about something, probably important.  Then, agony.

He’d heard about torture techniques- he  _ knew  _ more about torture than half the CIA, but this was like something from an intelligence report- the kind that described torture techniques with vague and complicated words that came with black and white photos that, once looked at, explained the wistful vagueness of the report.  He felt as if he were the mess on the floor in each of those pictures- horrifying, painful and only just recognizable.  It was like pulling a rope of thorns through his thoughts.  Everything hurt.

And  _ that  _ was Charles.

Erik woke up.  He hadn’t been down to talk to Charles for nearly two weeks.  He was outside on a deck chair.  The sky had shifted from a brilliant blue to a malicious and vengeful grey.  Raven and Emma were sparring each other on the lawn.  Alex was fiddling with some grass on another chair further down the hill.  Hank had left to work on the plane a week and a half ago.  Erik looked down at his lap.

There was a pad of paper and several precisely sharpened pencils.  There were plans and maps of Cuban fields and facilities and beaches that the Oval Office had had sent down two days ago.  

The plans of the facilities were crisscrossed with arrows and lines.  Eraser dust had gotten all over Erik’s trousers.

There was a month to go until they had to return to Washington for their final briefing, then another two weeks to start the infiltration.

 

One day, about a week later,  Emma called Erik downstairs.  “I think he’s gone crazy,” she said briefly.  “He started talking in his sleep.  Crying even.  I went to wake him up but he won’t...not fully anyway.  He’s still… shaken.”  

Erik felt a swell of pity for Charles, but then he remembered that the telepath was in a cell for a reason.  

Making sure his helmet was well adjusted, he opened the door to Charles’ cell.  The lights were off.

“Is that you Erik?” came a shaky voice from the corner.

Something fell away from Erik.  He was certain that  _ this  _ was the Charles he knew- had known.  He knelt next to the figure in the corner.  

“Am I dead?”  Came the wail.  There was a small  _ tap-tap-tap _ ping of Charles’ fingers against his temple. 

“No.”

“I can’t feel anyone.  I must be dead,” he cried.

“You aren’t.  You’re just trapped so you can’t hurt anyone,” Erik felt like he was talking to a dog.  The meaning didn’t matter, but his tone did.

“You did this?” Charles whispered.  He’d rested his head on Erik’s shoulder.  Something hot and wet was already soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

“I had to.”

“I hate you.”

Erik had no reply.

Charles’ rushed breathing calmed and became quiet.  “No one can win this,” he muttered, half asleep.  “Not unless they let themselves lose.  And no one would let themselves get blown to bits even if they could blow the others to bits afterwards.”

Erik didn’t move.  He felt as if he was invading something personal and private, but he didn’t have the courage to move his shoulder out from under Charles’ head.  The British man seemed so peaceful.

“So many people died… used as goddamn cannon fodder in that war.  And I could make it all better, right?”

Erik felt like he should say something, but he held firm.  It wasn’t his job to play mother for a Soviet assassin.

Then Charles shifted in his half-sleep.  His head slipped off of Erik’s shoulder.  Then Charles’ breathing became deadly quiet.  “Erik.  What are you doing here?”  It was a command.

“You were shouting in your sleep, but you seemed to have calmed down before I got here.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing.”

“WHAT DID I SAY?”  Charles roared, leaping to his feet.  He  _ couldn’t  _ have talked in his sleep- revealed  _ secrets _ in his sleep.  Erik scrambled to his as well.

“Nothing!  Just rambling about the war-”

“How dare you!  Don’t you see you’ve ruined enough already?”  Charles threw himself at Erik, desperate hands reaching for the helmet.  Erik was ready, but still taken by surprise at the darting fingers.  It was as if Charles had twelve arms.

“ENOUGH!” Erik commanded.  A layer of metal tore itself from the wall and slammed into Charles, pinning him against the back wall.  Erik saw red and twisted his hand, metal bending and melding around Charles like liquid silver.  Bands formed around his wrists and ankles, tightening until Charles cried out in pain, flailing like a drowning snake.  Erik clenched his fist, and the mass of steel that had thrown Charles into the wall tightened, threatening to crush the air from Charles’ lungs.  The professor let out a strangled gasp, fingers curling and uncurling like the legs of a dying spider.  

“No.  How dare  _ you _ !”  Erik said, stepping forward, bits of metal shrapnel floating around him like the halo of a vengeful angel.  “You go around listening to people’s private thoughts all the time!  How dare you have the  _ nerve _ to tell  _ me _ to not listen to you- especially when I’m trying to help!”

“Help?” Charles shrieked.  “Last time I checked, I was the one locked away without my powers!  It’s like being Goddamn  _ blind _ !”  Charles choked as metal clenched tighter around him, spreading up to his neck.  This was it, Charles was sure.  Erik was going crazy, and he was going to die.

“DON’T lecture me about pain,” Erik roared, leaning in close until Charles could smell the honey tea in his breath.  “You don’t know a  _ thing _ about real pain!”

Charles’ head felt light- as if it were a champagne cork about to pop off under extreme pressure.  He heard the door bang open, and the room flooded with light.

“Erik!  Erik no!  We need him  _ alive _ !” someone was shouting.  It was a girl.  Her voice sounded like it was coming through a long tube.  The light seared Charles's eyes and he shut them.  People were still shouting.  All of a sudden, he felt that same sliding feeling from before as the metal slithered away from his chest and throat.  Charles dropped to the floor, retching.  His ribs ached.  Then all the blood rushed to his head and suddenly all the sounds got louder but he still felt so  _ empty _ and  _ cold _ .  

The air felt like ice down his throat as he gasped.  He rolled into his back just in time to see Erik being pulled from the room by Emma.  

“Come on,” she said, “there's nothing for you here.”

 

\---

 

Erik beamed as Hank walked through the mansion doors.  Hank looked tired, but pleased as he embraced Erik.  

“It's good to be back,” he said.

Erik nodded, his face turning serious for a moment.  “Did you remember anything?” he asked.

Hank immediately knew what he was talking about and shook his head.  “No, I just remember coming downstairs and seeing him stuff his face with cake, but I suppose that's fake.”  Hank shrugged.  “It doesn't really bother me too much anymore.  Emma wrote me a few weeks back that it's impossible for a memory to be lost- only taken or hidden, so there are still ways for me to get it back.  It's just annoying that I don't know which experiences are the fake ones.”

Erik nodded solemnly, then brightened.  “Come see our progress.  We’ve really hammered Alex into shape- I think he could even beat you in a fistfight.”

“I doubt that.”

 

The others were delighted to have Hank back after his month spent working on the spy plane.  The sun was still out, although it glowed orange, low in the sky.  Erik made everyone show Hank all the maneuvers they'd been practicing, just like a kindergarten show-and-tell.  As night began to fall, Alex challenged Hank to a fight.  

“I've gotten better,” he protested when Hank laughed.  

“Alright then, let's go.”

Alex had indeed gotten better, but Hank was still the master, and he floored Alex after two minutes.  

As Alex brushed the grass off his hair he said, “Well, I  _ nearly _ got you with that one kick.”  

Hank rolled his eyes.  “I was  _ feinting, _ ” Hank replied with a laugh.  Alex seemed to offense for a moment, then he broke into a grin.  “Good to have you back, Beast.”

 

While the group was off finishing their final preparations, Charles was being fed through a slot in the door like an animal.  Emma never came in to wash him anymore.  He found it appropriate.  After all, he’d been reduced to little more than a rabid dog.  All he could think about was Erik.  How Erik had ruined his plans.  How Erik had made him suffer.  How Erik was going to pay.

“Erik, Erik, Erik,” Charles hissed under his breath.  

Charles still remembered his mission.  It burned at his conscience to know that he’d fucked it up royally, and he was doggedly determined to fulfill it, no matter the cost.  Erik wouldn’t hurt him or his ideals any more.

Charles curled up into a tight ball.  It was all his fault.  If he hadn’t been so caring for Erik, then he could have gotten the whole job done in an instant.   _ Oh, the mistakes we all make. _

 

The day came when everyone left for Washington.  Charles didn’t see them leave- he couldn’t even feel them leave, but now, the meals that were shoved through his door were from Mrs. Anne.  

Charles was filled with fury the first time her wrinkly hand peeked through the slot.  So Frost had brainwashed his staff?  

A nervous laugh escaped his lips.  He would have fun exacting his revenge on her… If he ever escaped this cell.

Then the emptiness returned.

 

\---

 

Hank looked backwards at the retreating mansion.  “You sure you can maintain this field thing from Cuba?” he asked doubtfully as they sped across the New York countryside.  

“Yes!” Erik shouted from the front seat.  He was having trouble talking since Alex seemed to be going at about a hundred miles an hour down the country lane.  “Don’t worry Hank, that backstabber won’t be getting away anytime soon!”

Hank sighed.  No one heard it over the wind.  He supposed if Erik couldn’t protect them, then no one could, so there was no point worrying.  Still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and thank you to everyone who left comments you guys really make my day every time! :)


	10. A Compromise in Cuba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we left off: Done planning, Erik, Hank, Alex, Raven and Emma leave for Washington DC to confer with the President about their mission. Charles stays behind to rot in his cell, plotting his revenge.
> 
> Where we pick up: A week or so later.

Three Days From Now.

 

The lack of nothingness smashed into Charles like a freighter train.  He found himself convulsing against the side of his cell.  It was like someone was forcing colors back into his brain- red more painful than cuts, green like rose thorns, gold like fire and blue like frostbite.  All this pain threatened to crush him- but then all of a sudden came the sweet sadness of human laughter.  Charles screamed.  It was better than he remembered.  How had he lived without it?  

His instincts kicked his mind into full gear, running at a thousand miles an hour.  He was barely aware of touching other people's’ thoughts, pulling them with his irresistible call towards his prison.  It was not a cry for aid, it was a command.  A binding order to  _ get me the fuck out of here. _

Then the freedom was gone as soon as it had started.  It was like a shock of icy water.  Charles couldn’t take the sudden switching and he blacked out to the sounds of keys fumbling frantically at the door.

  
  


Now.

The Lockheed’s lights were off.  Only the fluorescent buttons in the cockpit emitted any light at all as Hank dropped them below the clouds.  The moon glowed through the night fog as they swept over the ocean.

In the belly of the plane, Erik whispered into his headset.  “Everyone have their harness and boots?”

Three pairs of eyes flicked up to him.  They nodded.  Over their communications, Hank replied, “Yep.”  

“Then let’s get this over with,” Erik said pulling off the headset.  He unlatched the bomb bay doors with a wave of his hand, then helped everyone to their feet.

From the cockpit Erik heard Hank call out a “Good luck”.

“This feels so… childish,” Alex said as he took Erik’s hand.  They were all holding each other's’ hands now.  Alex eyed the water speeding below them.  “And yet I’m absolutely terrified.”

Erik laughed, then: 

“Three.  Two.  One.   _ Go _ !”

They jumped.  

For a second, Raven thought they were going to go  _ splat _ on the water’s surface, leaving nothing but a few bubbles before disappearing forever, dragged down by their boots and harnesses and backpacks chock full of supplies, but then Erik’s powers kicked in- the magnetism from the metal in those boots and harnesses countering gravity.  

Emma started to laugh before clapping her hand and Raven’s across her mouth.  It was like a small kiss.

Erik directed them towards land, and they soared low to the water towards Cuba in the near darkness.  Behind them, Emma could barely hear the plane.  Hank was going to land somewhere nearby and run general ops from the plane.  The rest of them would secure a closer position from where Emma would run close-ops.  

They alighted on a beach, touching down like a dancing group of heavenly kindergarteners.  They set up camp by a small stream a couple miles south, and fell asleep easily with Erik taking the first watch.

The next day was tough.  The four of them snuck through the damp jungle, steadily making progress towards the coordinates that had been given to them.  Apparently the US had moles in high places in the USSR.  They’d made steady progress, and Erik was certain that it would only be a day until they arrived at their destination- at the very most.

Again, they set up camp in a tiny clearing.  They didn’t dare risk a fire so they ate cold food.  Everyone, even Raven, was tired, so when it came time to sleep, everyone except Alex went quickly.

Raven was the first to wake up.  Unenthusiastically, she munched on some hardtack.   _ Is this what dog food tastes like? _ she thought moodily.  A few minutes later, Erik emerged from the camouflaged tent.  He hurried off into the forest to take a piss and scout the surrounding area.

About ten minutes later, the wind started to pick up.  Raven shivered.  It was too cold for this weather.  It was early summer, for goodness’ sake.

Emma emerged about five minutes later, rubbing her eyes.  Somehow her makeup was still perfect.  “Where’s Erik?” she asked, yawning slightly.

“He went out about twenty minutes ago to go to the bathroom.”  

“That’s weird.  I-”

Something whizzed out of nowhere. 

Emma winced, a hand darting up to her neck to where a dart had struck her.  “Wha-”  She blinked a few times.  Whatever was in the dart was quickly taking effect.  Raven leapt up, scanning the surroundings for their attackers.  Something whizzed past her ear.  The wind was deafening now, and she shivered even harder.  Where was…

A heavy blast of wind knocked her to the ground.  Almost instantly, two darts struck her in the shoulder and leg.  Raven’s eyes widened.  That was some powerful sedative.  Already she was beginning to feel woozy… yep… definitely very dreamy.  Raven giggled, and passed out.

A man and several soldiers in camouflage gear appeared from behind bushes and trees.  The man wore a formal uniform more suited to an award ceremony than field work.  A small tornado stirred at his feet as he walked cautiously towards the mutants.  

He was a mutant too of course, as the soldiers equipped with air rifles loaded with darts knew all too well.  His field name was Riptide.  Only one person in Cuba knew his real name.

The soldiers were top notch field agents, mostly Russian, but there were a few Cubans as well.  They followed their leader into the campsite cautiously.  

One of the Russians peeked into the tent and laughed quietly at Alex, who was snoring.  

“This kid not even awake,” he said in broken English.  Riptide refused to speak any other language.  “We still need drug him?” the soldier asked.  

A Cuban soldier nodded.  “Always better safe than dead,” he whispered, passing the Russian a dart.  The other man pricked Alex in the leg with it.  

The Russian snorted when Alex rolled over, still asleep.  “Like log,” he commented as they moved to drag the three mutants out of the clearing.

Then someone stumbled into the clearing.  The tall young man with short hair raised his hands and suddenly small bits of metal from the mutants’ supplies flew into the air, surrounding the attackers.

The soldiers froze.  Riptide however lowered his air rifle into Raven’s face.  “You must be Lensherr,” he said.  The soldiers shifted uneasily.  They’d been told they needed modified darts to deal with this mutant’s powers, but they had no idea why.

“Let them go,” came the answer.

“Attack us and the shapeshifter gets a plastic bullet to the brain.  Come quietly and no one has to get hurt.”

One by one, objects began returning to their sacks.  No fewer than three forks drifted menacingly away from Riptide’s face.  “Inject yourself,” Riptide said, tossing a dart to Erik.

He took it in surprise, then after a moment’s hesitation jabbed himself in the wrist with it.  After a few moments he keeled over, unconscious. 

 

\---

 

“Erik,” someone was calling.  “Erik, wake up.”

Erik was tied to a chair, head down, feeling horrible.  He felt as if there was cement running through his veins, not blood.  He couldn’t even groan.  What had happened?  He’d been off in the woods… Then he’d come back to find the others...captured?  It had all happened so fast, and Erik still had too many questions.  How had they been found so quickly?  They hadn’t even made it to the field where the Soviets were assembling the missiles.  How had they even been found at all?  Barely anyone knew about the operation and the only Soviet-affiliated one who did was locked up in his own basement.  And the others.  What about them?  

“Erik,” came the voice again.  “I know you can hear me.” 

A hot line of fire seemed to connect Erik’s throat to the pit of his stomach.  He knew that voice.  

He must have stiffened, because the man gave a small chuckle.  “There we go.  Now that I know you’re paying attention, I can tell you a few things.”  A finger traced its way up the back of Erik’s neck. 

He recoiled painfully, snapping his head back and away from the touch of the man who had destroyed everything.  Erik’s skin crawled where the man’s fingers had brushed against it.  

His eyes locked with Schmidt.  His tormenter chuckled.  “Before you try anything, if I don’t make it out of this room, my men have been ordered to shoot your… friends.”  

Erik broke eye contact.  _  How could this be happening?   _ First Charles, now Schmidt.  The past was truly coming back to haunt him.  And the worst thing was that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.

“Working for the Soviets now, scum?” he managed to force out.

“Erik.  Erik.  You know we both want the same thing.  I’m just using the Eastern Bloc instead of the Western one.  We all want what’s good for mutantkind, don’t we?” he asked, leaning in close.  Erik tried to pull away from Schmidt’s breath.  “Oh Erik.  You know how fond I am of you.  I’m so proud-”

“Stop!” Erik shrieked, heart pounding as fast as it ever had on a battlefield.  “Don’t-”  It was sickening.  Schmidt shouldn’t be saying this.  Not like a parent.  It couldn’t work like that.  The concept was like someone trying to jam two puzzle pieces together that didn’t fit.

“We want the same thing, Erik,” Schmidt intoned.  He placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder.

Erik bit his lip, unable to look at the other man’s face.  He was too tightly bound to jerk his shoulder away.  Desperate to change the subject to something that wouldn’t make him feel like he was being pulled apart, he muttered, “H-How did you find us?”

“Your friend Henry McCoy, and his interesting plane.  It was appallingly easy to get the information we needed from him, like your whereabouts.”

“What did you do to him?” Erik asked, fear pooling in his stomach.

“Nothing much, although I get the feeling that it stung.  I’m about to do the same to you in fact.  Maybe you can tell me.  Your friend ‘Hank’ didn’t know much about larger governmental plans that function on the international level.”

Erik’s heartbeat actually slowed.  If it was just going to be straight torture… well.  He’d had plenty of experience.  Surely he’d built up an immunity.  

He was wrong.  

Schmidt’s fingers gripped tighter around Erik’s shoulder, and suddenly he felt a sharp burning, as if he was being electrocuted and pinched at the same time, only a hundred times worse.  It was harsher and sharper than any of the other forms of torture he’d been subjected to, and he couldn’t help but gasp in shock.

“I never knew if you’d realized I was a mutant or not,” Schmidt hissed.  “But I suppose you’d guessed by now.”

“No,” Erik groaned.  Despite any evidence, he had found it impossible to believe that Klaus Schmidt, the man who had tortured him  _ because _ he was a mutant could have been a mutant himself.  The foundations of Erik's world shuddered.

That seemed to make Schmidt angry.  “Well.  Allow me to explain.  I control energy, which means that if I wanted to, I could shock enough energy into your system to make you feel like you’ve been shot.  Of course I don’t  _ want _ to, but if you don’t give me the information I need…” Schmidt left the end of the sentence hanging.  It wasn’t just Erik who was at stake.  Emma, Hank, Alex and Raven were on the line too.  But were their lives worth all the secrets he’d been entrusted with by the President?  Everything was just all so confusing.  Nothing would stay straight in his head.  His experience was screaming at him to say nothing, but his conscience was screaming at him.   _ What matters most?  Ones  _ you _ love, or ones that  _ are _ loved?   _

The pain intensified.  Schmidt was dragging his finger along Erik’s collarbone, “This is  _ almost _ enough force to break a bone, you know.  I’m only holding back because I know you’re reasonable.”

Erik ground his teeth.  Surely he'd experienced much worse before?  Although, Erik thought as Schmidt lowered his hand to Erik’s stomach, those times did not involve Schmidt, who brought back bad enough memories even when he  _ wasn't  _ present.

Pain burned in Erik’s stomach so sharply that he threw up.  Under different circumstances, Erik would have claimed he was trying to aim for his tormentor’s shoes, but in reality he was too busy trying to block out the agony and disgust.

“Tell me everything, Erik,” Schmidt implored him.  

“Go to hell,” Erik spat, trying to get rid of the acidic burn and taste of sick in his mouth.  

“Oh Erik,” Schmidt crooned, hammering in the last nail of Erik’s metaphorical coffin, “Your mother didn't die so that her son would suffer like this.”

Erik lost it.  All his concentration fled him, his powers and surroundings discarded, and he screamed because Schmidt was reminding him of everything he had tried to forget.  Unknowingly, the defences that had locked Charles’ powers in the cell with him fractured.

“I HATE YOU!” he screamed and screamed and screamed until he had no more breath.  The shouting broke into sobbing.

“Stop.  Please…” Erik's voice broke, “I-” He noticed that his chair with its metal frame was shaking.  No.  He shouldn't use his powers- Schmidt might kill his friends. 

The thought of his friends being in danger pulled him back from the memories he dared not venture near.  He could concentrate again, and far away, Charles lost his powers again.

Schmidt’s laughter rang in Erik’s ears.  He was so sick of it.  Why couldn't anything go right for once?  All he’d wanted was for the USSR to not win.  For the lives of millions not to be endangered.  For a safe place where civil rights could grow without fear.

“Think about it Erik.  Mutants deserve better.  But I can only make this happen if you help me,” Schmidt was saying.  Erik tried to shut it out.

_ Liar, liar, liar _ , he thought to himself.

“Think about it.  I’ll drop by soon, right after I pay a visit to your friends.”

Even though Erik couldn’t see Schmidt, he knew that the scientist was smiling.

The door opened and closed.  Erik could feel Schmidt turn the key in the lock.  He could feel so much metal in this place, wherever it was, which only served to make him more frustrated.  Knowing that he could escape and potentially complete the mission by himself just made the whole situation more unbearable.  If he even thought about stepping out of line, Schmidt would execute his friends.  Erik doubted he’d be able to watch Schmidt kill someone he loved again.

Erik hung his head.  He’d been unconscious for possibly a whole day, and yet he felt exhausted. 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.  Not with the knowledge that Schmidt was alive, well and so pristinely conserved that he looked the same as when Erik was a little boy.  His blood boiled.  Not even time could exact revenge on Erik’s mortal enemy.

 

\---

 

Charles stumbled out of the shower.  He needed to hurry.  Even now Erik could be shifting the balance of power, and that was something he couldn't allow.  The USSR couldn't afford this.

Hurriedly, he pulled on some clothes and rushed downstairs.  If Cerebro was still in the house that would make everything much simpler.  

Charles shuddered as he entered the bunker.  He made his way quickly to the lab and opened the door.

There were piles of scrap on the table, along with stacks of notes that he and Hank had written up.  Cerebro was gone.  

Charles let out a hollow laugh.  Of course they would take a bulky piece of material all the way to Cuba if it meant that he couldn't have it.

Well that just meant that he’d be late.

Hastily, he darted upstairs, mentally ordering Mrs. Anne to ready the car.  He packed two sets of clothes, then dashed back downstairs to grab a pistol from the armory.

He left the mansion in a hurry, jogging to the car that the valet had brought out to the front.

Charles practically leapt into the driver’s seat and spun out of the driveway.  He found himself frustrated that he couldn't drive as fast as Alex.

Only once he was speeding down the highway, diverting the gaze of any onlookers so that they didn't realize he was speeding, that he realized he was driving on the wrong side of the road.  

“Well, shit,” he said, narrowly avoiding an oncoming automobile.

Alright, he thought, the airport has to be somewhere nearby.  He plucked directions straight from the heads of his fellow drivers. 

The instant the airport was within his mental range, Charles was already directing the flight staff to organize a flight straight to Cuba.

Less than an hour later, he was watching the ground fall away as his plane flew there as fast as its pilot was able to make it. 

Charles tapped the edge of his first class seat in impatience. He was sorely tempted to demand a glass of champagne to calm himself down but resisted.  It wouldn't do to have his wits dulled before arriving, especially since he might have to explain why he hadn't completed the mission while he'd had Erik at his mercy in America.

The tapping intensified.  This was turning out to be a real mess.  A complete fuckup.

Charles felt the urge to get completely smashed, totally wasted.  He sighed, banishing the thought.  It was going to be a long ride.  

 

\---

 

Alex came to slowly.  The first thing he noticed was that it was a lot colder than he remembered.  And the ground seemed to be harder.  Eventually it became too uncomfortable to get back to sleep and he sat up, opening his eyes.  “What happened?” he whispered in horror as he saw his surroundings.  He was in a concrete cell with heavy metal bars.  Across from him he saw Emma in a similar cell in her diamond form.

She looked up, and Alex saw that there were open wires criss-crossing her body.  They were white hot.  She looked dejected.

Alex crawled to the edge of his cell.  “Emma, what happened?”

She shook her head, as if she were half asleep.  “Ambush,” she said, “They took us all by surprise.”

“But… what’s happened to you?”

She smiled grimly.  “They’re holding me hostage so that none of you break out.  If the guard sees anyone make a move, he ups the heat though these wires to full.  Diamonds are one of the best thermal conductors.  If I revert back to human form, the heat that’s passing through me right now will stop in my system and,” she laughed dryly, “I’ll be completely fried.”

“Then don’t revert!” Alex shouted as if it were that simple.

“Alex, it does take effort, you know.  I can’t maintain it for more than a few hours, but sometimes they cut the power for me to rest.”

“Then why don’t we escape then?!” 

Emma shook her head.  “They’ve got Erik.  If they don’t kill me, they’ll kill him, and I can’t feel him with my powers while I’m transformed, and they give me sedatives the moment they cut the power and-” her voice was high pitched and hysterical. 

“OK, OK, calm down,” Alex said.  “We’ll find a way out, I promise.”

Down the hallway there was a pained yell, then, “Azazel?  What’s-” then the wailing stopped abruptly.  “Shit!” the voice cursed.  “Fucking shit!” 

Moments later, a voice came on through speakers, filling the short corridor.  It spat something out in spanish, then there was a click.  A quiet wailing filled the hallway.  Not the loud blare of an ambulance, but just loud enough to be heard over casual conversation.  “Fucking  _ shit!   _ I just hope I was fast enough…” the swearing was drawing closer.  

A young man sprinted past Alex and Emma’s cells, cursing.  Alex strained to see where he went, but found he couldn’t see far enough around the corner.  He heard a door open and slam, and the frantic pattering of feet up stairs, then there came the shout from upstairs beyond the door, “Shaw!” he roared, “We’ve got a big fucking _problem_!”

Emma leaned forward, shaking.  “Riptide…” she whispered.  “I wonder what’s happened?”

“Emma, what’s going on?” Alex asked.  “I fell asleep.  How the  _ hell _ did we get here?” His confusion was only just setting in and his need for answers only just manifesting itself now.  

“Ambush.  Yesterday.  By that man, Riptide.  Azazel, the one he just called out to… from what I can tell, he’s a teleporter- but I don’t know what’s-” Emma’s breath caught in her chest.

Alex nodded.  He’d just have to wait until they were out of this mess until he could get the full picture.  “You just focus on staying transformed alright?”

Emma nodded, and Alex pulled himself forward to the cell bars, trying to figure out a plan.  

Obviously there had just been a distraction.  Judging from the scream he’d just heard, the mutant called Azazel seemed to be out of the equation.  Riptide was gone.  Did that mean that they weren’t under surveillance anymore?  Alex put his head in his hands.  It didn’t matter, because if they broke out, someone  _ might _ flip the switch that would electrocute Emma to death.  Even then, they still had Erik.  

_ Come on, come on.  What would Hank do?  Think outside the box… _

The alarms cut off suddenly, leaving them all in complete silence.  From the end of the corridor, he heard someone pull open the door.

 

\---

Azazel materialized in Shaw’s office.  His face was blank, and he stood perfectly still. Even his tail didn’t twist around characteristically in the air.  A moment after he and his quarry appeared, the Russian mutant collapsed, knocking past Shaw’s desk to fall, exhausted in a corner.

“Oh.  It’s you, Xavier,” Shaw said, glancing over at a spent Azazel who was unconscious on the floor.  He was wearing a Russian-made psion-shielding helmet.  Infinitely more effective than Hank’s little contraption.

Charles stepped forwards unsteadily.  “Yes.  Quite disorienting, instantaneous spatial displacement, I’m impressed Azazel does it so often.”

“Well,” Shaw said, with a hint of reproach, “I doubt it’s as disorienting as having a telepath hijacking your body.  Why are you here?  You’ve obviously failed your mission.”

Charles felt a twinge in his stomach.  So Shaw knew about his mission.  “If you saw the mission report, they you know that I have not failed.  I can still perform a total reprogram and we’ll have our pawn next to Kennedy’s ear.  Now where is Lensherr?  I assume you kept him alive?”

“Mmmh.”  Shaw grinned like a wolf and tapped the side of his helmet playfully.  

Charles had worked with Shaw once before, and he knew that the other man was teasing him with that kind of body language.  The tap on the helmet was an indication of information that Shaw was delighting in not sharing.  

“Straight answer, Shaw, otherwise I’ll have to do something unspeakable.”  Two could play at that game.  “Or rather,” he continued, “I’ll have someone else do something unspeakable.”

Shaw smiled again.  “That’s more like it.  Follow me.”

He led Charles down a network of halls until they arrived at a heavy metal door.  Charles glanced at Shaw.  A quick mental check confirmed that Erik was behind it.  Of course, he’d sensed him long before, but formalities and custom dictated that inquire with Shaw first.   _ But does he know about Erik’s- _

“He has metal altering powers, but he won’t be using them.  I’ve made sure of it.”  Shaw fingered his helmet. 

“Have you met Lensherr before?” Charles asked, resignedly.  

“Yes.  I’ve known him since he was a child.”  Shaw laughed quietly.

A chill ran down Charles’ spine.  That would have put Shaw and Erik’s meeting in the early to mid-forties.   _ Damn _ .  He really didn’t need his conscience acting up right now.  No.  He had to remember all the terrible things Erik had subjugated him to over the past month.

Shaw pulled the door open.  

 

\---  

 

Shaw wasn’t particularly worried about Erik.  He’d broken him a long time ago, and from the looks of it, he still remembered his place.  He was actually pleased about how far Erik had come in the development of his powers and his views on the world, similar to Shaw’s own.  Genuinely, he thought, he and Erik could shape the world together.  Obviously, Shaw’s needs would come first, but he was looking forward to having someone just like him on his side.  

Xavier on the other hand… well.  As he led the young telepath down the narrow halls, he reflected on their relationship.  Xavier was a strong mutant, there was no denying that, but his morals and ethics were so immovable that Shaw wasn’t sure he could be turned to their cause.  Charles Xavier believed in equality at any cost- a disgusting equitable society.  He also didn’t believe in killing.  Ever.

He and Shaw’s personalities clashed, to say the least. 

Last of all, Shaw didn’t trust Xavier’s powers.  Telepaths were often sneaky, sly, and often seductive mutants.  All the telepaths Shaw had met had been cocky to a fault, and all too quick to backstab their comrades.  Most of all, Shaw couldn’t trust anyone who had the ability to tamper with his head.  

Telepaths had their uses, but at the end of the day, they were not to be trusted.

Shaw opened the door to Erik’s cell.  The boy was half-awake in his chair, grimy and sweating like mad.  

Xavier didn’t hesitate.  He strode forward confidently and placed a palm on Erik’s forehead, running his fingers into his hair.  He tipped Erik’s head up, pushing the man back in his seat.  Erik moaned, eyes closed and half asleep.

Shaw snickered, leaning against the wall.  “Mind if I stay?” he asked.

Xavier’s eyes flicked over to him, then back to Erik in a cold, calculating way.

“If you must,” Xavier conceded.  “It will take some time, and it's not… pleasant to watch.”

Shaw chuckled but didn't move.  “Would you mind explaining what you're doing as you do it?  I'm curious.”

Xavier raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest.  He drew up his other hand so that each one was just above Erik’s ears.  His long fingers reached to the back of Erik’s head.

Shaw’s lip curled.  He knew perfectly well Charles barely needed physical contact, even for something as demanding as this.  

Erik’s eyes flew open and he breathed in sharply.  “Charles-” he gasped, horrified.  

Shaw looked at Xavier’s face.  His expression was cold and vengeful but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

“This will hurt quite a bit, Erik Lensherr,” he said coldly.

Instantly, Erik’s face froze in shock and his body stiffened.  Breath hissed from between his lips.  “Char-” he gagged.

Shaw leaned forwards.  Xavier was getting hot, a sharp contrast between his usually icy demeanor.  What exactly was between Erik and the young telepath?

“Right now,” Charles said through gritted teeth, “I’m removing all mental resistance.”

Erik frowned.  The look intensified into one of deep pain.  Erik growled, eyes screwed shut.  Then he went completely limp in his chair.

“Interesting,” Shaw interrupted.  “Pain usually sets his powers off.”

For the first time in a full minute, Xavier turned to Shaw.  “I control every single thought running through his head, every twitch of a muscle.  If Lensherr uses his powers it’s because I make him.”

Shaw laughed.  “Go on then.”

Xavier turned back to the unconscious man.  “Now I… get used to the way of thinking,” he explained, “So that the mannerisms after the… alterations are characteristic.  No one gets suspicious, and memories fit together with personality seamlessly.”  Xavier closed his eyes and breathed out.

Erik began to move.  First it was the twitch of a finger.  Then his legs jerked.  Soon the only inch of Erik that wasn’t writhing was his head, which Xavier kept still between his gentle, slender fingers.

“That’s… it… Erik.  Time for you to… let me in.”  

For the first time in a long time, Shaw felt as if he were listening in on something intimate.  Erik suddenly grew motionless.

“Now I get familiar with the memories,” Xavier said.  “The memories…” his voice died.  Xavier frowned.  “That’s-” his voice was shaky and he didn’t continue.  Xavier removed a hand from Erik’s head and shifted it to his own, breathing out shakily.

Shaw watched the developments in interest.  Xavier moved the hand from his head to his mouth as if he were covering up a cough.  

“Something wrong?” Shaw asked.

Xavier wiped something out of his eye.  “No, no.  It’s nothing.  Lensherr just doesn’t have the rosiest of memories.”

Ah, Shaw thought.  That was it.   

Xavier took a long breath.  Then, “I’ll just get it bloody over with,” he hissed, pressing his hand back to Erik’s head.

Shaw laughed quietly.  He’d seen enough.  He knew what was between them.  After pushing himself off the wall, he strode out of the room.  The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Charles caved in slightly.  He looked dead on his feet, and there were already more substantial tears pooling in his eyes.  

He’d been so sure of himself.  So  _ sure _ that Erik was the bad one, that nothing Erik could do could overpower Charles’ seething hatred and revenge that stemmed from the deprivation of his powers.  But no.  He hadn’t been ready for the  _ memories _ .

Specifically…

_ Erik, no older than fifteen, huddled in a corner in a sterile white room, hiding behind drawers full of sharp tools.  The door opened, and in walked Shaw, as young as he’d ever been. _

_ “Oh, Lensherr,” he cooed in German.  “Come out Erik,” he said, “Come out so we can help you.” _

_ The metal drawers rattled beside Erik, and Shaw peered over one of them.  “There you are.” _

_ Then Shaw reached down and touched him, and the flow of memories was almost too much to comprehend.  Charles saw blood, felt knives, heard complete and utter silence.  But most of all he saw a face, the one of Erik’s mother.   _

My fault, my fault, my fault _.  Those were Erik’s thoughts. _

Then...

_ Erik, alone in a room in Charles’ house on the day he’d left to buy everyone presents, unscrewing the jar of Charles’ coins and making them ripple around the room like waves, like shining metal fish.  Charles heard Erik distinctly think,  _ If only Charles were here. 

Then… 

_ Erik, only five, holding a little boy’s hand.  Charles’ hand.  “You’re special, Charles Egger,” he said.  “I wanna the world to know we’re special.” _

_ Erik used to find it so hard to pronounce ‘Xavier’.  _

It had been at that point when he’d begun to cry.

Shaw hadn’t taken much notice of it.

There was a dream in there too.  

_ They were in a room lit by firelight where it was warm and comfortable.  A chessboard lay discarded on the table, and Charles was sitting next to Erik in front of the fire.  They were holding hands. _

_ “I don’t like kissing,” dream-Charles said. _

_ “How come?” replied Erik. _

_ “Because everyone always expects you to show your love through a kiss, and I’ve never been a good kisser.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “And I don’t want to have to kiss someone for them to know I love them.” _

_ Erik broke out into a smile.  They squeezed each other's’ hands. _

Charles’ hands fell from Erik’s temples.  “Damnit Erik, I don't know what to do.”  Charles took a deep breath, then patted Erik’s forehead.  “Wake up,” he commanded in a soft, low voice.  “Wake up, Erik- I need the real you.”

Erik groaned, shifting slightly.

_ Now what?  _ Charles thought.   _ My mission or my sanity? _  He knew he could never bring himself to alter Erik’s way of thinking-  _ it never stopped you before _ , a darker part of himself hissed.  

Charles buried his head in his hands.  Technically.  Technically, Charles didn’t need to reconfigure Erik’s morals for him to ‘become a pawn’, and Charles could technically make it so that Erik didn’t disrupt the delicate plans going on in Cuba without causing Erik too much more discomfort.

Erik groaned, leaning back in his chair so that his head was facing the ceiling.  The harsh light cast his adam’s apple into sharp relief.  Without thinking, Charles reached out his hand to cover Erik’s eyes.

Although it had barely been a minute since Charles had separated himself from the other’s consciousness, Erik seemed to know who it was.  He spat.

Warm saliva dripped down Charles’ palm.  

Charles accidentally retaliated mentally.  Erik winced as he felt a quick prickling run up and down his face, as if he’d just been slapped.  Charles immediately regretted it.  “Erik, I-”

“You…” Erik heaved, “absolute  _ fuck _ .” 

“Why haven’t you escaped yet for God’s sake?” Charles demanded, ignoring Erik’s protests, although they stung.

The tension left Erik’s body and he seemed to cave in and he leaned back and closed his eyes, the light shining bright red through his eyelids.  “Schmidt has the others,” he moaned dejectedly.  Charles recognized Schmidt as Shaw from Erik’s memories.  

“He knows how to deal with me-” Erik continued, “And I can’t fight him.”  Erik’s voice cracked.

Although he’d seen Erik’s memories, Charles was shocked.  He’d never seen his friend so weak.

“Was that you?  Looking at my memories?  You arrogant son of a bitch,” Erik continued.

“Yes,” Charles replied, “but I didn’t keep them all in my head.  I didn’t need to-  I would have finished…” he trailed off.  Exactly how much did Erik know about Charles’ mission anyway?  A secret for another day perhaps.

“But I’ve changed my mind Erik, I swear.  I can’t come back to America with you, but I can’t just leave you with Shaw.”

“Charles, who are you?” Erik asked.

The professor was crying again.  “Damn it Erik,” he choked through tears, “I’m supposed to be the one who knows what to say.”

Erik screwed his face up.  He wasn't allowed to be compassionate for the enemy, even if he was-

“I want to be  _ Charles _ !” Charles cried out, “I just want to be  _ your  _ Charles, your childhood friend!  But I'm being pulled in too many right directions, Erik, I don't know who I am,” he wailed.  “I don't want to chose- because it's right to want to be with you, but it's right to want humans and mutants to live as equals, isn't it?”

It was all too heart-wrenching in the way that only Charles could be.  “You're a liar Charles,” Erik whispered in horror there was a sharp tear, as the metal of the chair grew sharp and sliced itself through the ropes binding Erik to it.

“I don't want to wish I'd chosen the other option,” Charles whispered.

“Liar.” Erik repeated.

Suddenly, the door opened.  Charles pulled himself up, moving to shield Erik.   _ Shaw, _ he thought, working hurriedly to straighten his face and wipe away the tears. 

_ Erik’s made his choice.  He’ll never accept you,  _ a part of him whispered.  Charles felt a something harden inside his chest.  

He turned, intending to make an excuse to Shaw, pull Erik back into submission, reassure Shaw that he'd just needed to further break down Erik’s resistance before…

He stopped.  He could feel the mind with its memories in the doorway, and it wasn't Shaw.  He turned. 

“You,” Charles hissed, his voice as cold as chilled steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow did that take a long time to write- I had a lot of fun writing some of the darker parts (because I like to make my heart suffer forever). Thank you to everyone who left comments (I love you to death)! You make me smile every time :)))) See you all next time for a packed chapter!


	11. Loose Lips Sink Battleships

Alex tried to look around the corner despite the barrier of cell bars.  He cursed under his breath as he heard keys jangling and footsteps walking towards them.  Then a pair of boots entered his field of vision.  Alex looked up.

There was a woman at his door.  She wore the slightly tattered clothes of the working class.  Her hair was of a medium length and she carried herself quietly, save for the keys jangling in the lock.  The lock to Alex’s cell.

Alex backed away from the bars, preparing himself for a beating or something equally painful.  The woman was scowling.

“Alex Summers?” she asked briskly.

Alex made tentative eye contact, ready for anything.

“I’m Moira MacTaggert, and I’m here to break you out.”

“What?”

“I _just_ said,” Moira said, moving over to where Alex had scooted into the corner.  “I’m Moira MacTaggert, and I’m here to break you out.”

Alex gazed at her in disbelief.  “ _What?_ ”

Moira rolled her eyes, finding the correct key on the ring and unlocking Alex’s handcuffs.  “I was the one who leaked that the missiles were coming here in the first place,” she said briskly, moving quickly to Emma’s cell.  “I was a ‘cleaner’ in the Kremlin.”

“You were the informant?” Alex asked in wonder, standing up for the first time in a day.  He was stiff.

“Deep cover agent,” Moira said, unlocking the door, then backing away down the hall.  “Look after her,” she said, pointing at Emma, “I’ll find the switch to turn the damn electricity off.”  

Alex looked on in bemusement as Moira vanished around the corner.  Suddenly, the white hot wires criss-crossing Emma’s body seemed to dim a little, quickly losing heat.  A few moments later, Moira was back.

Emma looked up, still in her diamond form.  “Thanks,” she said, shoulders lowering considerably.  

Moira flashed her a brief smile and jerked her head towards the outside of the cell.  “C’mon.  We gotta get the others.”  

She looked at Alex curiously as they jogged down the corridors.  “You, know,” she said, “I didn’t actually believe in this whole… mutant fuckery until a couple weeks ago.”

Alex laughed nervously.  “I was shocked too,” he said.

“What do you do?”

“It’s complicated.  Think flaming hula hoops of energy.  Hank- he’s our friend, he made a special device that helps me focus it through my chest.”

Moira nodded as if she only half-believed him.  Alex bit his lip.  He’d been trying to be funny.

They arrived at another set of cells.  

“Holy shit,” Alex said, spotting who was in the one on the right.  “Hank, they got you too?”

Moira moved to the other cell which housed Raven, while Alex sank to his knees outside his friend’s cage.  

Hank was definitely the worst for wear.  He obviously hadn’t taken his medication for days, as his blue fur had grown out.  His glasses were smashed in a corner along side what remained of his clothes.  There were clumps of blood matted into Hank’s fur, and innumerable cuts.  

“Oh _God_ Hank.  What did they do to you?”  Alex’s voice was shaking.  He had no idea what was going all- everything was happening too fast, and his eyes and throat were burning.

Hank uncurled from his protective ball.  “Alex?”

Alex reached through the bars, pulling at Hank.  “Hey.  Hey, Hank it’s all gonna be fine- there’s this lady, she’s breaking us all out so we can go home, alright?”

Hank only now seemed to be registering his surroundings.  “Alex I can’t believe I told them _everything_ ,  I’ve failed everyone…”

Alex felt his eyes burn.  Hank was uncrackable, an immovable pillar.  “Hank,” he began, “ _none of this_ is your fault, you hear me? _None of it._ ”

Moira moved to Hank’s cell, fumbling with the keys again.  “We haven’t got much time,” she whispered.  “We still have to get this Lensherr person.”

Raven walked up from behind them as they were pulling Hank to his feet.  “Why did you free us now?”

Moira sighed.  “I didn’t think you’d all get captured in the first place, especially since no one knew you were coming.”    
Raven seemed unimpressed.

“There was a disturbance earlier and I reasoned it would be the only good distraction that would give me a reasonable window of time to break you out.  I’m no mutant,” she elaborated, looking slightly more uncomfortable than before, considering they were still in mortal danger.

“Wait, so you created the distraction?” Alex asked, turning away from Hank for a moment.

Moira shook her head.  “Today might just be your lucky day.”

Moira led them through the corridors and up two flights of stairs.  Everything was deadly quiet as she gestured for them to approach a heavy door on the second floor.  She pressed her ear against it, checking for the sound of Shaw-  Moira didn’t know what she’d do if he was inside with Lensherr.  Her stomach dropped as she realized they’d probably have to leave him.

Thankfully, she couldn’t hear Sebastian Shaw’s characteristic, smug drawl.  Moira drew out the keys, clutching them in both hands so that they didn't jangle.  She eased the correct one into the lock.  It turned and unlocked in complete silence.

Moira slid the keys back into a pocket and drew out a pistol.  She took a cautious breath, motioning for the others to get ready for whatever was behind that door.

She shoved it open, aiming the gun at the first thing at the two men at the center of the room.

Moira suddenly felt slightly dizzy, as if the world had shuddered.  The details of her mission rose to the forefront of her mind.

The man that was standing up, the one that was not Lensherr, turned to face her.  His eyes widened in shock and the beginnings of rage.

“You.”  He straightened his collar.  “Agent MacTaggert,” he hissed.

Moira took a step back.  “How do you know my name?”

The man took a step forward, raising a hand as if to touch her face.  “You’re the mole,” he whispered stalking toward her.  “You’re the one who-”

Lensherr’s fist flew out of nowhere.  It connected with the other man’s face, sending him flying into the wall, where he slid down to the ground, completely unconscious.  His head was limp against his chest.  Knocked out, he seemed small.  Moira wondered what had made her feel that the man on the ground was dangerous.

Alex rushed past Moira into the room.  “He’s a telepath,” he said, after the slight shock at finding Charles, “and a Soviet son-of-a-bitch.”

Moira uttered a quick, “Oh.”

Emma limped in, supporting Hank.  Her expression darkened.  “We need to kill him, and quickly.”

“No!” snapped Erik from the floor where he was examining Charles.  He knew that killing him would end the problem, but he found he just couldn’t.  Not Charles.  Not the one he’d fallen for.  He searched his mind desperately for a solution- they couldn’t just let Charles walk free, they didn’t have helmets.

“Emma, take control of his mind.  He’s knocked out, so he won’t resist, right?”

Her eyes widened.  “Erik, we can’t take the r-”  Something in Erik’s eyes silenced her.  Slowly her clear diamond gleam receded.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

 

_Emma was standing at the peak of a grassy hillside that sloped into a ditch.  It had just stopped raining, and the clouds were just beginning to part, revealing a dying gold sunset.  The ditch was full of gently flowing water.  In the distance there was an old fashioned manor house._

_As Emma looked up to the building to make it out more clearly, the sun sped up, falling below the horizon.  Now the manor was lit up by a thousand little lights that leaked from its many windows.  Emma looked back at the ditch and the water that flowed through it.  The sun reversed, speeding back into the moment just before it began to dip beneath the horizon._

_The ditch water was clear, and Emma could see right to the bottom, except the bottom wasn’t dark and filled with drowning grass.  It opened up to the sky, the same sunset as hers.  Little fish and tadpoles swam through the clear water._

_There was a small whisper, and the water rippled inwards, as if she were seeing it from below.  “Catch me, Erik.”_

_Then something jumped._

_A boy seemed to fall from the underwater sky straight at Emma.  She gasped shielding her face, thinking that the boy was going to fall on top of her.  The ditch boiled._

_A thick mass of water broke the surface and thrashed in the air slamming into Emma from below.  She closed her eyes so that no water got in them._

_“I’m only human.”_

_Emma jolted awake.  She’d been leaning against the wood panelling of the door for hours.  The tiny shack was cramped for space except for a few feet in the corner where the firewood used to be.  Used to be.  Now there were only five logs left._

_Snow crept up the window, and it was impossible to see more than a few feet into the blizzard.  They were completely snowed in._

_A withered lilac flower sat alone in the windowsill, dry and all but ready to crumble into dust._

_Emma turned to the fireplace.  There was a man in the armchair surrounded by books in front of the dying fire.  She went over._

_He was young, early twenties at most, with long, matted, thick brown hair and unhealthily pale skin.  He was curled up on the chair under several blankets.  A bare chest peeked out from the heavy cloth.  Emma supposed he could be handsome, but that didn’t matter to her.  He was Charles._

_Heavy fur boots defrosted next to the fire.  The open book on Charles’ lap slipped a millimeter, the cyrillic pages heavily annotated._

_Emma stepped forward.  She had to take control.  She placed a single, delicate finger on his forehead._

_Charles’ eyes flicked open.  They were like frozen ponds with ice too thin to stand on._

_“Who are you?” Charles’ voice echoed around the tiny room, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at the same time._

_“I’m Emma Frost, and I’m here for revenge.”_

_Charles looked up innocently, and Emma recognized him as the boy from the ditch.  His shoulder length hair fell over his bony chest.  He gazed past Emma.  The young Charles wasn’t aware that anyone was watching._

_“You’ve already seen too much,” continued Charles’ disembodied voice, “and I’m… so tired.”  He was weak._

_The young Charles stared into the fire._

_Then his eyes became an even fiercer blue, and suddenly everything was being sucked into them like they were drawing in gusts of wind._

_Books tumbled off of stacks, pages ripping themselves to shreds and drowning themselves in Charles’ ever-growing eyes.  The fire licked upwards and then in an instant went out.  Everything went completely dark._

_Emma’s hand was still pressed against what felt like Charles’ forehead, but she could no longer feel the pulse of memories and personality bubbling just beneath the visible.  She sighed._

_She should be happy with uninterrupted control over the body, but Charles had denied her the one thing that she was desperate to get her hands on.  His mind._

_Still._

 

Emma’s eyes flew open.  At the base of the wall, Charles started to get to his feet, wearing the blank and vacant expression of someone who wasn’t behind their own eyes.  

Emma recognized Charles as the older version of the adolescent in the winter hut, albeit with shorter, neater hair and fuller cheeks.  She concentrated.

“Who’s the best telepath?” Charles asked without inflection.

Alex laughed.  “Emma you’re amazing.”

Emma smiled, golden curls bouncing as she turned to Erik.  “Now what commander?” she asked, bubbling with pride.

Erik had looked unsettled at the sight of Charles’ expression, but he couldn’t help grinning at Emma’s look of confidence.  

Moira jerked her pistol at Charles.  “Who is this?” she demanded.  

Erik looked at her.  “A telepath.  A professor on both sides of the wall, a spy.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Up until a few weeks ago, he was my best friend.”

Moira winced but stood firm.  “I know it’s hard, but we’re going to have to kill him.”

“No, we can keep him for leverage and information.  He’s higher up on the Soviet ladder than we thought, judging from how Schmidt spoke to him,” Erik said quickly.

“Schmidt?” Raven asked in alarm, stopping her giddy waving hand in front of Charles’ face.

“It’s one of Sebastian Shaw’s aliases,” Moira interjected, noticing how everyone’s eyes were drawn to Erik’s face.  

There was a small noise outside and everyone jumped.  

“Let's get out of here,” Hank whispered.  

Moira nodded, peering outside the heavy metal door.  “We need to head to the beach, but first-” Moira swung her backpack off her back and opened it, pulling out bundles of fabric with metal buckles and wires.  Their suits.

“Get dressed,” Moira said.  “There’s one more place we need to stop off at before we go to the beach.”

 

\---

 

Shaw went back to his office, grabbing an Azazel mumbling in Russian by the collar and pulled him onto the table.  Watching young Xavier work was chilling and eerily seductive in a way that made Shaw’s lips pucker.

Shaw patted Azazel’s cheek, siphoning off some of his power into the half-conscious mutant to wake him up.

Azazel shot up, tail writhing and clutching his face.  

Shaw looked him in the eye.  “What happened?”

Azazel’s eyes darted to the door.  “Where’s the mind-taker?” he demanded, face setting into a venomous scowl.  He made to slide off Shaw’s desk but the other man pushed him back.  

“Xavier’s dealing with Lensherr.  Now tell me what happened.”

Azazel shivered.  “I was with Riptide, guarding the other prisoners while you talked with Lensherr.  Then, I felt strange.  As if I were dreaming.  All of a sudden I could feel Xavier, and I _wanted_ to bring him here.  Riptide was looking at me strangely, he said my name.  That snapped me out of it for a second, and I realized what was happening.  I babbled something to Riptide, but then the feeling was back.  I don’t remember anything after that,” Azazel spoke quickly, using a mix of Russian and English.  

Shaw nodded slowly.

At that moment the door burst open.  “The prisoners!  They’re gone!”

Shaw’s eyes flashed and he pushed his way out into the hallway, cursing, “Lensherr!”

Azazel puffed out of existence behind him.

The thick steel door crushed itself against the opposite wall as Shaw pushed it off its hinges.  He stalked into the room, unsure of what to expect.  

The room was empty.  No sign of Lensherr or Xavier.  Xavier’s disappearance was unsettling.  At the very least he expected a body.  The possibility of the professor being a turncoat occurred briefly to him, but he shook himself.  Of all the people he knew, Xavier was the least likely to betray his precious ‘communist dream’.

Shaw stepped over to the twisted chair.  Several feet of rope lay severed next to it.  Shaw clenched his fist as he backed out of the room.  Lensherr wouldn’t escape without consequences.  He’d learn his place soon enough.

Riptide popped into existence at his side, clutching Azazel’s shoulder.  “Any idea where they’ve gone?” he asked.

“The forest will slow them down if they’re on foot-” Azazel began.

“The suits Lensherr brought have metal fixings.  They’re going to try to fly out of here,” Riptide interrupted.

“Lensherr isn’t strong enough.  He won’t be able to trust himself trying to move that many people, especially since if he makes a mistake, whoever he drops out of the sky is dead.  They’re going to try and steal a submarine, so they’ll be running to the beach.”  The two others stared at Shaw as he spoke.  “I know Lensherr too well,” he finished, his lips slightly upturned, his voice barely a whisper.

He grabbed Azazel’s wrist.  Riptide also extended a hand to clasp Azazel’s, and they all vanished with a _hiss_ and a puff of smoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *BACKSTORY-IFIES* HMMNNnnnNNNNNNRHHH
> 
> A littttttle short- But! the next chapter will be up soon!  
> Hope you all enjoyed it, see you next time *wink*


	12. The Beach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE BEACH.

“Fuck!” Emma called from up ahead as three people materialized not fifty feet from them.  “I knew we shouldn’t have taken your goddamn detour,” she hissed to Moira.

Alex, Emma, Raven, Moira, Hank and Erik pressed their backs together.  Everyone had worked together for years, except with Moira.  However, she seemed to get the message and fell in with the others.  Charles stared blankly into space apart from them, still under Emma’s spell.  

“Erik Lensherr!” Shaw called.  “If you continue to resist I shall have no choice to kill everyone here, as painfully as possible.”

“Go to _hell_ , Schmidt!”  Erik shouted.  There was so much metal nearby- A submarine only a hundred feet out from shore and all the metal bits they’d brought to Cuba in their bag.  He flexed his hand and the sharp scraps whipped themselves out of Moira’s rucksack and fanned themselves out around their group.

“It’s six against three!” Raven shouted.  “We won’t go down to the likes of you,” she yelled at their enemies, mostly towards Riptide.

A small voice edged into their brains.  Emma’s.   _Hank’s injured.  Moira, no offence, doesn’t have powers, and if I transform I’ll lose my hold on Charles, and Erik-_

 _I’ll be fine,_ Erik assured them.  

_But with Charles, it’s four to four plus Hank and Moira._

_Emma, don’t worry about me.  I’ve got more than enough strength to fight,_ Hank thought to everyone.

Raven rolled her eyes.  “Here they come,” she grumbled.

In front of them, the red demon-looking mutant vanished, reappearing a foot in front of Emma.  Hank took a swipe at him with a bright blue claw, but Azazel’s arm shot out and grabbed Emma and disappearing before the blow could connect.  

A hundred feet above, Emma and Azazel reappeared.  Azazel quickly pushed Emma away from him and vanished, materializing behind Shaw.

Emma hung in the air, almost impossibly, then began to fall.  She screamed, pulling herself into a ball, her skin frosting over as it turned to diamond.  Next to Hank, Charles crumpled, his eyes rolling up into his head, and his unconscious body falling into the sand.

Emma slammed into the sand a few meters ahead.  Erik rushed forward, pulling with his powers on the submarine docked a couple hundred meters away.  

Over the years, he’d learned that there were two ways to exceed his normal limits.  Both of them occurred when he lost control- when he was angry and when he was compassionate.

His powers had grown enormously once he’d met Hank, Alex, Raven and Emma and that was why.  They agreed that it was because he had something to protect, once again after all this time.

_Charles would have said it was when I have a purpose._

A miniature submarine slammed into the spot where Shaw had been standing.  Azazel had managed to get them all out just in time.  There was a sharp hiss from behind him and Erik turned to see Shaw’s group of mutants standing in the midst of his friends.  

“Poor Erik.  You thought you'd keep your friends safe?”  Shaw placed a palm on Erik’s chest, and he was blown backward, cut off from the rest of his group.  

Riptide closed in on Hank and Emma, while Raven leapt for Azazel’s throat and Alex released a blast of pure energy at the Soviet.  Shaw obscured the rest of Erik’s vision as he strode toward him over the sand.

“I must admit Erik,” Shaw called out.  “You've grown more than I believed possible.  A submarine,” he mused, “impressive.”

Erik roared a wordless scream of frustration, tearing of scraps of metal from the mini-sub behind him.  He could hear the panicked shouts of the Soviet naval officers as they fled the ship like ants from an anthill.  He flung the shards of metal at Shaw relentlessly.  The Nazi doctor brushed them aside with hands that couldn’t be cut.  They ricocheted off him and buried themselves in the sand.  Angrily, Erik shot himself up in the air using his harness while continuing to rain down metal rain at the velocity and rate of a machine gun.

 

\---

The first thing Charles noticed was the noise.  Grunts and screams mostly, but also the screeching of metal.  He opened his eyes.  How odd.  He was on a beach.  Now how on earth had he gotten there?  Charles frowned, trying to remember what had happened before he’d turned up in the sand.  

He remembered… an agent.  Like himself, but without a mutation.  But the memories ended there- although.  Something niggled at the back of his mind.  A golden sunset.  Lights shining out from across the water.  A cabin in Siberia, in deepest darkest Russia, covered in snow.  

 _Frost_.  He thought icily, realizing she’d infiltrated his mind.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbling and falling back down as his legs failed him.  He gave up, deciding instead to reach out with his mind.

The instant he left the safety of his own head, he was barraged with a torrent of thoughts.  Everyone was fighting.  Emma and Hank were close to subduing Riptide, but Raven and Alex were losing to Azazel.  Shaw was wearing a helmet, but from Erik’s mind he could tell that he and Shaw were at an impasse.

He rolled over onto his other side to see the conflict, which was happening about a hundred feet away.  He concentrated, trying to reach Erik, but he was still too weak to do more than observe.  Cursing softly he raised his fingers to his temple.  It had always focused him before, and now-

 _Erik?_ he asked.

From their weak connection, Charles could perceive a distant blend of surprise, anger and overwhelming fear.  There was also resigned sadness.   _He thinks I’m going to take him over again_ , Charles realized.  It broke his heart.

_I won’t Erik.  I’ve just realized something that I need to show you._

The fear died down slightly, although the wariness and anger were still there.  Then the snarky reply, _I’m in the middle of something Charles._

Oh God, that was _Erik_.  The corners of Charles’ eyes burned.  He smiled a wide smile, not caring that sand was getting in his mouth.

 _I won’t make you stop your capitalist madness Erik,_ Charles thought, hoping Erik caught the humour in his mental voice, _but I’ll do my best to persuade you._

 _Charles,_ Erik warned.   _Shaw-_

 _It’ll only take an instant.  I promise._  Charles opened the floodgates of his mind.

  
  
  
  


Erik was in a darkened room.  Charles stood next to him, but another, younger, teenaged Charles stared at a TV in the corner along with a few other men, all of them much older.  A giant mushroom cloud filled the television screen, expanding by the second.  He glanced at the man seated next to him.

“ _Izvinite-_

“Sorry, but I need a moment alone,” Charles translated.

The older men nodded, and Charles got up and moved opened a door, moving to a brightly lit dining room.  Present-day Charles gestured for Erik to follow.  The moment past-Charles closed the door behind him, he clapped both hands to his face, his face contorted in a silent howl.  His breath came in shuddering gasps as he tried to remain silent.  

 

Charles and Erik were in a cabin.  Snow covered every window.  Erik looked around and spotted a small, skeletal figure lying in an armchair in front of a fire.  There were only a few logs left on the pile next to it.

Suddenly, there came a thud on the door.  The arm of the thin figure twitched.  The knock came again, louder.   _Thud-thud thump_.  

The figure sat up, and Erik recognized it as Charles.

“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, his english schoolboy accent on the tip of his tongue.

 _Thud-thud thump thud_.

Charles stumbled to the door, unlatching it as quick as he could, not caring that he was half naked.  Snow tumbled inside as he pulled the door open.  He squinted. Everything was so bright outdoors.

He was met with gasps.  

“ _Bozhe moy-_

“Oh goodness!” Charles translated again.  “My dear boy, are you alright?  How long have you been here?”  “He’s so thin!”

Two middle aged women entered the cabin, looking horrified at the sight of Charles’ malnourished body.

“Euh,” young Charles said.

“My food ran out a few days ago,” present-day Charles translated, smiling at his younger self’s faltering Russian.  

One of the women let out a cry of anguish, while the other pulled at Charles’ hand.  “You get dressed, and you will stay at our house,” she commanded.

 

The scene melted away, and as it was reforming, Charles said to Erik, “They were like the parents I never had,” he said, laughing.  “And I was the son they never could.”  

Erik cleared his throat.  “I don’t understand what this has to do with-”

 

The scene around them swirled, and while watching a new room twist around him, Erik lost his train of thought.  “Stalin was by no means perfect.  I hated him.  I wanted revenge against everything he’d taken away from the Union, but he had such a large following, I thought that maybe I could just… change his mind.  But, by the time I’d reached the top of the ladder,” he said disdainfully, “a different disease had gotten him first.”

Charles turned, gesturing at the darkened room.  The ornate chandeliers flared to life, illuminating a tense audience, and a solitary speaker.  “I didn’t immediately drop out of the Communist Party however.”

A somewhat younger Nikita Khrushchev was addressing a diminished group of listeners.  Charles translated.

“The Commission has become acquainted with a large quantity of materials in the NKVD archive and with other documents and has established many facts pertaining to the fabrication of cases against Communists, to false accusations, to glaring abuses of socialist legality -- which resulted in the death of innocent people. It became apparent that many Party, Soviet and economic activists who were branded in 1937-1938 as enemies were actually never enemies, spies, wreckers, et cetera, but were always honest Communists; they were only so stigmatized, and often, no longer able to bear barbaric tortures, they charged themselves with all kinds of grave and unlikely crimes,” he murmured, translating Khrushchev’s speech as Erik watched.

Eventually Charles lapsed into silence, pondering Khrushchev’s words as if he was hearing them only for the first time.  

Erik could pick up only snippets, owing to the fact that his Russian vocabulary was smaller than his big toe and just as rusty as the hull of the Titanic.  Evidently however, this was Khrushchev’s “Secret Speech”.  Erik had never actually read the official transcript, although Kennedy had made reference to it several times in his presence.  He shivered.

“We can finally have equality,” Charles said, “and yet the Americans insist on holding literal bombs above our heads because of their idiotic economy.”

“Ideals.  Rights.  Freedoms.”

“Power.  Fear.  Money,” Charles said offhandedly, “Bombs.”  He was still staring at Khrushchev.  “I’ve played this speech out over and over in my head.  He’s far from perfect.  But still.”  He turned back to Erik.

“Atomic bombs.  Purges.  What’s the difference?  Haven’t Soviets suffered enough for their beliefs?”

“Don’t people deserve freedom?  Communism spreads-”

“What I’m trying to say is that everything is at stake here.  One side’s victory is the ultimate downfall of the other.”  The room was beginning to twist out of existence again.

The dying light of the chandeliers reflected in Erik’s eyes as they widened.  “Then the only way of preserving both is through a tie.”

Charles smiled.  “No one wins, everyone wins.”

“Unless the people decide which they prefer.  Which will be the Western way.”

Charles sighed.  “I will have to disagree.”

The darkness engulfed them both, and Erik’s mind snapped back into his own head.

  
  
  


Erik’s vision resolved and he saw a man Shaw was stalking towards him, laughing.  Erik was on the ground, standing stockstill like a soldier.  How had that happened?  Charles- damnit, he must have-  

“Xavier got to you in the end I see,” Shaw said.  He wore one of those lopsided grins that seemed charming if one didn’t look up and see the hunger in his eyes.

“Always a devoted little Communist, that one.”  

Erik stayed still through pure shock at first, then in realization that Charles had given him the perfect opportunity if Shaw thought he was still entrapped in a mind battle with the telepath.

“I always found it odd,” Shaw said, halving the distance between himself and Erik, obviously still wary despite the assumed situation, “how he believes in equality when his power offers him such…” Shaw laughed again, softening his language, “temptations.  I’ve heard him talk.  He influences everyone he goes near.  How would anyone ever believe they are equal to that?”

Erik tried to keep his eyes level and his breath steady.  If Shaw could come just a _little_ closer…

“I wonder what he’ll make you into.  I’ve seen what he does to other mutants.  Even other telepaths become communist fanatics.  Whatever you become, I’m sure that the Soviet higher-ups will be most pleased.”  Shaw took a final step towards Erik.  Perfect.

Erik rammed his knee into Shaw’s groin, and the latter, unable to activate protective powers in time, keeled over in the sand, cursing.

“Xavier thought wrong!” Erik roared, metal flinging itself at Shaw.  

Sebastian Shaw just managed to activate his powers in time to avoid being torn to shreds, however, shards of metal managed to pierce his leg in a few painful- but sadly not lethal- places.

Erik roared.

Charles stumbled back, mentally drained.  Truly, it would be some time before he could get back to the mental state of confidence he had possessed only a few months ago.  The bitterness he felt at Erik for his incarceration had diminished slightly, but it was doubtless still there, and it was still very strong.  His feet, unused to the instability of sand, tripped Charles up, and he sat down hard in the sand like a toddler who ‘couldn’t be bothered to walk _anyway’_.

He took a breath.  Maybe his powers were out of action, but he most certainly was not.  He clambered to his feet surveying the scene.  He had shared his memories with Erik, hoping that the other man realized that complete victory (annihilation) was no victory at all, but that was not about to stop him from winning this particular skirmish.  After all, the Soviets needed missiles in Cuba to counter the American ones in Turkey.  

In front of him, he saw Erik and Shaw engaged in a tight struggle, completely based on their powers.  Riptide seemed to be dealing with Frost, he saw, blowing her back with a cutting wind whenever she got close and also managing to avoid beams of energy that Alex rained down on him.  However, Azazel looked thoroughly pummeled as he faced off with Hank and Raven.  

 _There_ was something he could help with.  He knew that Raven must be exhausted, but he was comparatively fresh, physically, that was.

 

Raven felt that she was growing more attuned to Azazel’s teleportations around them, being able to predict when he would blitz in and out of existence and where he’d reappear.  She swung her leg up at Azazel’s face, knowing he would vanish, probably to appear right behind her, within punching range of Hank.  Azazel disappeared.  

Just as Raven turned, something hard slammed into her knee.  She felt it twist awkwardly and cried out in pain, falling to her knees.  It was a shock, but she could tell it wasn’t serious.

Charles stood over her in a solid fighting stance.  

Hank turned to see the source of her distress, and Azazel chose that moment to reappear behind Hank.  

“Azazel!  Take him!” Charles commanded.  The red man grabbed the blue one, and with a sharp hiss, they both vanished.  

“Hank!” Raven cried out, rolling to the side to avoid Charles’ kick to her face.  She leapt to her feet.  There would be time to help Hank, but Charles demanded her immediate attention.  It she could just knock him out again-

She snapped her leg up, hoping to catch him under the chin, but he slid to her inside, jabbing at her with his elbow.  She deflected it to her outside with an slap of the hand.  Now he had to turn to be able to hit her again, his own body blocking his line of attack.

Charles grabbed her leg, the one that was snapping back to her body from before, and threw his weight into it, hoping to unbalance her.  

Technically, it worked, but Charles hadn’t counted on Raven swinging her other leg up to twist around his neck in a makeshift chokehold.

They both fell into the sand, struggling desperately.  Charles twisted wildly, fingers working frantically to separate himself from Raven.  It almost felt as if she was getting heavier.  

Charles pried himself away and jumped to his feet, whirling to face his opponent.

Erik stood there, his eyebrows imploring, his mouth pleading.  His arms were outstretched.  “Please Charles-” he began.  

Some part of Charles realized that it was Raven, but that didn’t stop him from stumbling back in shock.  The voice- every detail about this imitation was so _real_.  He froze up, giving Raven-Erik time to slog him in the stomach.  

Charles, using years of instinct, rolled away.   _Concentrate, damnit_ , he thought, trying to shake his thoughts away from Erik.  He could hear Raven approaching.   _Wait_ , he realized, _I can use this_.

Raven approached Charles’ figure in the sand cautiously.  She was tired, she realized as she got nearer to him.

Suddenly, although not unexpectedly, he spun around on the ground, flinging sand up into her face.  Raven avoided it, but he got to his feet before she could pound him into submission.

He lashed out at her ferociously.  This time, his moves were faster, albeit not as clean.  He looked furious, channeling all the pent up rage of an animal kept caged for weeks.

Raven matched him blow for blow despite her exhaustion.  She had to end this quickly.

Charles’ eyes blazed.  There was a specific pattern to his attacks now, she found, blocking a punch with the side of her leg.  When they landed, all seemed to be hitting her-

Lunging forward to knock him out, Raven’s leg crumpled beneath her, her knee weakened by Charles’ blows to the point where it would not support her weight.

Charles’ blue eyes flashed.  His dirty trick at the beginning had paid off.

The last thing she saw was the searing blue sky.

  


Charles stumbled away from Raven-Erik’s unconscious form.  Slowly her pale skin returned to its natural blue.  He gasped, bent double to recover his breath.  Truly, he hadn’t thought that he would have been able to defeat her without his powers.  

 _She must have been more tired than I thought_ , he supposed.  Then a suspicion crept to mind.  Azazel’s memories from when he had arrived indicated that Erik’s gang had been locked up, but just how bad was ‘locked up’ when it came to Sebastian Shaw?  He shuddered, unsure of whether to feel grateful for Shaw’s interference or not.

Something rumbled behind him.  Charles, physically and mentally spent, didn’t notice Hank pounce on him until the cobalt blue mutant pinned him to the sand and deliberately sank his claws into him.

Charles screamed high and pure, something he wasn’t accustomed to doing at all.  Although Hank’s claws didn’t penetrate further than an inch into his skin, they hurt like hell and they _bled_.  Charles was too busy yelling to mourn the ruining of his favorite shirt, but his legs flailed around wildly, forcing Hank to throw him away into the sand rather than slicing him to bits right there.

Charles, from his low vantage point in the sand, saw Hank loom over him, blocking out the sun.  He was seized by a sudden, but not uncalled-for panic.  The professor attempted to scramble away, throwing up clouds of sand in his feverish haste to escape the Beast that bore down upon him.

He cleared the giant’s shadow, but then a sharp pain erupted along his calves as Hank hooked his claws into Charles’ leg.  The sand was wet and smelled of iron.  Charles screamed as the Beast drew him back and flipped him over.

“Enjoying yourself Professor?” Hank growled, pinning him down again.  

“Hank I can explai-”  Charles tried desperately to reach out with his mind but he was spent.  The corners of his eyes burned.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY NIGHTS I STAYED AWAKE TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW MUCH OF MY MEMORY WASN’T REAL?”  he roared.  He slammed a clawed hand into Charles’ chest, winding him.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DAYS I WASTED WONDERING IF I WAS REALLY THE PERSON I REMEMBER?!” Hank screamed.  His hands lunged for Charles’ throat, anger taking over.

Charles realized that the life was being crushed out of him just in time.   _God, Hank_ , he thought, _It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this_.  He tried to tell Hank that it had been for a reason, but it came out as a choked hiss of breath.  

The edges of his vision were growing black and little sparks of light were floating before his eyes.

“Hank please-” he forced out.  He couldn’t feel his neck anymore- despite the sun, everything seemed cold.  “Lilovyy…” he whispered.  Violet.

Through his dying vision, Charles saw Hank’s eyes widen as the mental lock inside him was thrust open, memories returning at awful speed.  Truly it _was_ awful speed-  To Hank it was as if his hidden memories flew back at him like a flick from a stretched rubber band.  They slammed into his consciousness, eager to fit themselves back together, causing Hank to crumple, hands slipping from Charles’ throat.

Charles gasped so deeply for air that he nearly choked.  “Oh my God,” he kept repeating, “Oh my God.” He pushed himself over to stare at Hank, who lay twitching in the sand.  That trick was worth holding onto, Charles noted.  He examined himself, feeling sick.  

Hank had ruined him.  There was no way Charles would let himself die from his wounds, but there was no way he’d be ready to run in a few days.  Hank had seemingly slashed from the back of Charles’ knee to his ankle.  Not only that, but upon looking down, Charles noticed the thick spots of blood in his shirt where Hank’s claws had broken through his skin.  He didn’t even want to see the state of his neck- it felt three sizes too small.

“Oh my God,” Charles breathed, falling into his back.  All the blood chose that moment to rush to his head.  Shit this was bad.  He needed to get to Shaw- tell him to stop playing with his food.  He could engineer an escape for Erik another day but _he was going to die if he didn't get to a hospital_.

One last time, he stumbled to his feet, appalled by how much blood he was trailing behind him.  Shaw.  Shaw.  Shaw.

A figure stepped into his vision.  A woman with dark hair carrying a pistol.  Charles glared down the barrel of her gun she held from twenty feet away.

“Stop right there, Xavier,” she commanded, shaking the cocked gun.

He froze, face a mask of indifference although inside he wore a face of despair.

He tried to smile, to be charming.  “You're Moira MacTaggert, right?” He took a step forward.

“Not another step.”  Moira walked forward until she was a few steps away from him, gun still aimed at his heart.

Charles was looking faint.  Moira noticed he was losing a lot of blood.  “Ms. MacTaggert,” he said shakily, “I’m going to fall over.  I’m going to die.  Moira I think I’m going to-” Charles dropped to the ground like a sack of bloody potatoes.

Moira’s eyes flashed, but her gun hand remained steady, barrel snapping swiftly to Charles’ new position on the ground.  She stood over him, careful not to let her gun get within his arm’s reach.

With a snarl, Charles’ body burst into action, slamming his fist into the soft spot behind her knee, causing Moira to trip reflexively.  Her shot rang out as the gun fired into the sand an inch away from Charles’ ribcage.  Charles reached out to where she’d fallen and attempted a grab for the gun.  

They wrestled for it for a few seconds, and although Charles’ hands were slick with blood that made it difficult to get a grip on it,  Moira was only grasping it with one hand.  Moira pulled, and the gun flew out of reach.

“Shit!”  Moira swore, crawling over to it, expecting Charles to leap on it at any moment.  Her fingers closed around it and she spun around, ready to blow the professor’s brains out if necessary.  She saw him running- zigzagging- _fuck_ , he was almost to Shaw, who’d obviously provide better protection than the nearby forest.   _Shitshitshit shitfuck fucking shit_ , she thought, getting to her feet and taking careful aim.  “Xavier!  Stop where you are or I’ll be forced to shoot!”  She gave him two steps to stop.

Charles had scrambled up the moment the gun had flown out of their hands.  He tried to remain low to the ground and zigzag.  His legs felt like lightbulb wire filaments- fragile and burning.

“Xavier!” Moira shouted from behind him, “Stop where you are or I’ll be forced to shoot!”

Charles kept stumbling forward.  Oh God, she was going to shoot him.  Oh God, she was a damn CIA agent- there’s no way she would miss- Oh Goddamn.  “Shaw!” he screeched, glancing up.  Both Erik and Shaw glanced up as Moira started to fire.

One shot sent up a jet of sand.  Charles thought he could actually feel the second one speed past his leg.  

Erik was running towards him, his fight with Shaw forgotten.  Shaw followed him, looking pleased, yet annoyed.  He evidently thought that Charles had finally latched onto Erik’s consciousness.

Moira fired another shot.

  


Shaw slammed his open palm against Erik’s stomach, sending Erik spinning backwards as if he’d just been hit by a car.  Thankfully, Erik had managed to slide a sheet of metal between his body and Shaw’s hand, being careful to maintain a distance between the metal and his body.  The majority of the energy was transferred to the metal, which nearly instantly started to melt and hiss as it started to melt.  As Erik fell backwards, he flung the now screeching sheet away into the sand where it bubbled threateningly.  

“Shaw!”  Charles was running towards them, the look on his face desperate.  

Erik leapt up and dashed forward.  He wasn’t exactly sure why.  

Shots spat in the ground at Charles’ feet.

“Get behind me!” Erik shouted, leaping in front of Charles- protecting him from Moira.  He saw her face fall in fear, evidently thinking Charles was controlling his mind.  She steeled herself, firing another shot.  Erik slowed the bullet and dropped it to the ground.  He halted another shot, and then-

Pain erupted down his side as Shaw raked his fingers down Erik’s back, transferring pure heat into Erik’s body.  The stench of burning fabric assaulted his nose.  Fire licked up his ribs as he arched his back and fell to his knees.  Shaw laughed.

Through the burning, Erik heard Moira’s gun go off.  Erik knew the bullet was going to catch him in the chest.  Moira had been trying to shoot him in the leg, but she’d been delayed in pulling the trigger, and he’d fallen to his knees, exposing himself.

He couldn’t focus through the pain- it was like fire, roaring and dying in the same instant, surprising him even as he sensed it coming.  He couldn’t stop the bullet.

All of a sudden, Erik felt cold. _I can’t let this happen_ , he knew in the instant the bullet traversed the distance between them.  The pain flared up, giving Erik a kind of clarity.   _I won’t die here.  I refuse._

Erik strained, throwing his concentration at the bullet.  The industrially manufactured bullet didn’t stop.  It didn’t even slow down.

It spat to the side, deflected off an invisible magnetic force.  He heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him.  

Shaw was still laughing.  Moira was fumbling at her gun, trying to reload it.  Erik tried to pull away from Shaw, thrusting out a hand.  A heavy metal plate swung up from the ground and slammed into Shaw, pushing him backwards at such a speed that he slammed into the side of the submarine, thirty feet away in less than two seconds.  The metal bubbled at the edges, fusing with the side of the sub to trap Shaw.

Erik took a heavy breath.  The world was beginning to calm down, there was time to think.

Someone screamed.

Erik turned and his stomach clenched.  Charles was lying on the sand, mouth wide open.  His scream was dying now, the sound jolting and halting as Charles ran out of breath.

Erik found himself on the ground, cradling Charles, holding his head to his chest.  There was something hot and wet seeping down Erik’s hands where he was clutching Charles’ back.  

Moira was running up to him, gun cocked.  Charles’ breath quickened, rasping.

“Stay back!” Erik roared, and the gun was ripped from her fingers.  Moira was pushed back, the metal buckles and zippers of her clothing pulling her to the ground.

Charles was staring at Erik’s face, trying hard to focus.  “Erik?  Erik, Erik, why is this… Was this you?  Did you….?”  His face went white.  “Erik?” he asked, anxiously, “Erik, I can’t feel my legs.  I- I can’t feel my legs…”

Erik bent his head over until their foreheads met.  He tried to shush Charles, to tell him that everything was going to be alright, but the younger man raised his hand to Erik’s head, seeming to want to push him away.  

Pinned to the submarine, Shaw laughed.  “He’s got you now, Little Erik,” he cackled in a voice that carried.  

Erik made to turn in anger but Charles’ hand stayed his head as it rested on his cheek.  “Shh…” Charles coughed.  “You should go,” he whispered, “I-”  He bit his lip and screwed up his eyes.  “Shaw- Azazel,” he corrected, “will take care of me.  You need to leave, before I start finding reasons to hate you.  To blame you.”

Erik made no move.  

“Please.”

He stood up, looking over to Shaw, who was slowly melting and pushing his way out of his makeshift bonds.  Evidently he thought Erik was still under Charles’ thrall.  With a savage slash from his arm, he separated Alex and Emma from Riptide with a torrent of piercing metal.  With another gesture, the force pinning Moira to the ground reversed itself, dragging her to her feet as if she were under a spell.  Raven and Hank were rising too, levitated through the air by Erik’s powers.

“We’re leaving,” he said in a monotone voice, only half pretending for Shaw to allow them to escape.

Alex and Emma assumed a protective stance around the bodies of Hank, Raven and Moira while Erik covered their exit.  They vanished among the trees a few seconds later.  No doubt Erik was now using his power to fly them as quickly as possible, probably to their spy plane.

“You have to wonder where he gets all that energy,” Shaw drawled, creeping into Charles’ vision.

He chuckled painfully.  “The mind is a powerful thing.”

A sly grin split Sebastian Shaw’s face.  “He’s our pawn now?” he asked.

Charles closed his eyes.  “It was barely even a remoralization by my standards.  He can hardly be called a pawn for our side, but he’s no longer a pawn of theirs.  He’s been disillusioned: the first step,” he whispered.

Shaw shrugged.  Xavier wasn’t making any sense.  And no wonder: the amount of blood in the sand would have been alarming to anyone but Shaw.  However, there was something that Shaw needed to check.  “The missiles are still here, so you haven’t ‘failed’ your mission,” he began condescendingly.  “But Little Erik fucked you up rather well didn’t he?” he said, smirking.

Charles’ face twisted into something hateful, he opened his eyes and Shaw saw they were filled with malice.  

 _Good,_ he thought. _Xavier never_ was _a turncoat.  Good._

Azazel fizzed into existence beside them, his face almost as blue as it was red.  There was a heavy cut just above his eyebrow that was bleeding into his eyelashes.

“I’ll be expecting a full report about the entire operation within the next week.  Don’t leave anything out,” he said.   _Or else._  

“I don’t report to you,” Charles said, raising his hand for Azazel’s.

Azazel grasped Charles’ wrist.  

“ _We both need the hospital, right… Comrade?_ ” He asked in Russian, trying to be amicable, but hesitating.  He clearly remembered how Charles had taken control of him to get there.

“ _Yes.  I’m sorry about before, Comrade Azazel._ ”

Azazel nodded and they both vanished with a brief _pop_.  

 

\---

 

They’d been advancing towards the spy plane for about an hour, using Alex’s radio to ‘tune in’ to the Soviet’s frequency.  Raven knew a smattering of Russian and Spanish and she helped them navigate away from danger.  

Unsurprisingly, since they’d only escaped a few hours previously, there were no extra guards around the plane.  Of course, the guards had been briefed to expect an attack, but there just weren’t enough people to hold the position.

They came swiftly, knocking out the guards within the space of a minute.  Emma stayed in the center of the group, carrying Moira.  Hank was awake but leaning heavily on Alex.  

As Erik used a belt buckle to smack the last of the guards unconscious, he gestured at them to board the plane.

Hank stumbled into the pilot’s seat and began flipping switches.  It took precious minutes to check the Lockheed’s systems and start the engine.  The others waited in anxious, deadly silence.  “Hold on everyone,” he said finally, as the floor began to hum from the engine’s power.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex said, squeezing Hank’s shoulder.

 

\---

 

Something was bothering Shaw.  According to the reports made by his underlings, there was a large gap of time between the prisoners’ escape and their arrival on the beach.  That wouldn’t have bothered Sebastian Shaw, except that according to several reports, a female technician who had worked with them since their departure from the Soviet Union had been an intelligence officer and had escaped with Erik.  What was her name? Mara? Moina?

 _She would have known the base from top to bottom, and could’ve made their escape far quicker,_ Shaw mused.   _And yet they stayed…  Why?_

On a hunch that filled his stomach with something like a more bitter and angry version of dread, Shaw made his way down the corridor and into the stairwell.  He descended to the very bottom level.  

Although the ragtag team of American mutants had escaped only a few hours ago,  Shaw had been one of the first to inspect the missile assembly site, despite his injuries and torn uniform.  Pleased to see that they were all present and intact, he’d withdrawn to his office, until this idea had begun nagging at him.

He was at the computer room.  The nuclear missiles couldn’t be launched from anywhere else in the world- their activation codes were locked so that they would only respond to this particular signal.  

A radar _blipped_ nervously in the corner.

The feeling in Sebastian Shaw’s stomach intensified as he bent down to check the computer panelling under one of the launch computers.

It had been ripped out- and it looked as someone had applied a blowtorch of immense power to the circuitry.  

Shaw swore as he scrambled to check the other computers.  They’d all been destroyed beyond immediate repair.

Shaw wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry out in anger.  After all, they still had their missiles, they would just need to repair the computers.  But repairs would take time.  After all these computers were the delicate craftsmanship of expert Soviet engineers, with complicated circuitry and overrides designed to prevent the missile launches from anywhere but these computers.  

It would take weeks- months even, for a professional to come here and repair them- and even then, the repairs would take a long time.  Shaw clenched his jaw.  Maybe they could finish repairs by late September, or early October.  It depended when the next few missiles would be arriving.

Sebastian Shaw massaged his temples on his way up the stairs.  

“Any status on Lensherr,” he almost shouted at a soldier that passed him.  

The man paled and shook his head.  “They seem to have disappeared off the radar, Sir,” he said.

Shaw cursed and continued on his way.

What a crisis this was turning out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, and I'm a bit scared. Thanks for all your support :)


	13. Карибский кризис, or the Cuban Missile Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is the last ‘real’ chapter for now. My spirits feel dampened that there won’t be more in this storyline (that one story arc in world history called the Cuban Missile Crisis)- but have faith, the Cold War isn’t over yet, history is my favourite subject, and the world of X-men must go on.

Anatoly Dobrynin, although not new to politics, was nervous.  He was stout, but not short, and he wore a pair of glasses that seemed to make the rest of his face fade away into hazy memory.  He had only become the Ambassador to the United States from the Soviet Union at the beginning of the year, and yet here he was, only a few days after the crisis that would have spelled the end of life on earth as anyone had known it.  

He was here for a reason, he remembered.  The embassy had received a telegram early that morning with detailed instructions.  Anatoly remembered, repressing a shudder, reaching the end of the page, the words:  _ Do not panic, do not resist. _

Cryptic and vague, he thought, in stark contrast to the rest of the letter that spelled out his orders in brief, yet specific sentences.

Anatoly got into the sleek black car parked in front of the embassy.  The driver and bodyguard did not speak, and he did not feel the need to tell them where to go.  They no doubt already knew.  

The whole thing seemed to be working like clockwork.  The young bodyguard in the front checked his watch constantly, and the driver’s attention seemed glued to the road.  When he finally heard the satisfying crunch of the wheels on the White House’s gravel, Anatoly looked up from his notes.  No matter how forcefully the letter had ordered him to stay calm, he was beginning to panic.  His heart seemed cold inside his chest, which was burning.  His fingers shook slightly, as if they’d been in snow for too long.

The bodyguard got out of the vehicle and came to open the door for him.  

A bit slim for a bodyguard, wasn’t he?  Anatoly thought.  The man was young, with the bright blue sparkle of youth still in his eyes although his energy seemed worn thin, as if he was wearing a mask.  What are you doing here? the ambassador wondered, why are you deadening yourself in this line of service?  What happened to you that you’re here so young?

The boy brushed his childishly long brown hair back behind his ear and under his ceremonial hat.  My, Anatoly thought, they’re really going all out on this thing aren’t they?

Anatoly wore ceremonial attire most of the time he went out in public, but to have the regular staff don it as well only stressed the importance of the proposition he was hoping to make today.  His heart rate inched its way up into gentle panic mode.

The bodyguard opened the door, and held it for Anatoly to get out, which he did smoothly.  As he passed, he noticed the bodyguard was checking his watch again.

“ _ Got a girlfriend to get back to? _ ” he asked casually.  He wasn’t as fond of silence as he led everyone to believe.  

The young man looked up, seeming at first not to understand.  For a brief moment, Anatoly believed that he didn’t speak Russian, but then a look of understanding crossed his features, and he replied, “ _ No, nothing like that, but my mother always stressed the importance of punctuality. _ ”  He ended with an awkward smile, hiding the watch beneath a shirt cuff. 

Anatoly nodded, and allowed himself to be shown into the White House by a high ranking official, escorted by the young guard.

They stopped in front of a large, important looking door.  To the left was a small room, a waiting room, with sturdy chairs inside.  They were seated in the waiting room and the official stepped out and closed the door behind him.  They waited, in almost complete silence.  The young man began to shift into a comfortable position, as if he were in pain.  A secretary stepped out and approached him.  “Mister Dobrynin?” he asked.  The American accent sounded harsh to his ears.  “The President is ready for you.”

Anatoly stood up and the guard’s eyes flicked to his and he nodded.  

“ _ Good luck _ ,” he said. 

  
  


\---

 

Almost the moment Anatoly left, Charles Xavier lost the feeling in his legs.  The Soviets had devised a serum, similar to Hank’s, that had given him the ability to walk again, but it also cut him off from his powers as completely as Erik’s cell had.  He remembered with an inner shudder, how he’d been strapped to the hospital bed in the plane that had flown him to Moscow.  He’d been so weak he hadn’t been able to stop them from injecting him full of painkillers.  He must have rambled to the officer beside his bed, alternating in a mess of Russian and English.  When the flight landed, Charles was rushed off the plane and into a nondescript looking car and then to a hospital facility in Lomonosov University.

He actually didn’t know how long he stayed there, only that he had found himself at the mercy of scientists’ experimentation.  Charles wasn’t sure if the doctors were trying to restore his ability to walk, or to develop a means of shutting down his power.  Either way, they’d developed this serum, he remembered, and every time they injected him with it, he could feel his powers being pulled away from him, further and further, until he could not sense anyone at all.  Then, when it wore off after a few painfully excruciating hours, it was as if he were in the desert and someone was dangling a glass of crystal water in front of his eyes.  He could almost sense the power he was about to regain control over, but he didn't possess it yet.

Charles was at the edge of this barrier separating him from his powers at that very moment.  The compulsory, hungry, lustful  _ need _ for his powers threatened to overwhelm him, as it always did.  Charles felt the sudden urge more than anything to curl up on the floor and claw at himself until he bled, to pull himself apart to get to his power, but then all of a sudden-

The last residues of the serum were overcome by his cells and the telepathic landscape around him appeared.  Charles gasped quietly.  Oh God, it  _ hurt _ .  It was like moving for the first time after being asleep in the cold.

The feeling lasted only an instant and then Charles was overtaken by a powerful sense of purpose.  He had his power back- there was no need to worry.

A few weeks ago, he'd finally been released from the medical ward, full of dread.  His mission had not turned out how he'd hoped: he emerged from the university and was immediately bombarded with the news of an impending nuclear war with the Americans.  He’d felt cold and fearful as he watched the October crisis play out.  Damn, and it had all been his fault-

When he’d received summons from the Soviet higher-ups, he hadn't attempted to flee.  He'd failed them after all, and somewhere he felt that he deserved the execution that he knew was waiting for him.

He'd come before Khrushchev himself, shaking like a leaf.  He'd recounted everything to his handlers, carefully avoiding his feelings for Erik and Cerebro.  However, he did tell them about the American handler of agents centered in Moscow.  Khrushchev had said nothing.  He had looked disappointed, and then Charles had felt something.  He couldn't just die.  Here was something that he needed to do- he needed to help the Soviet Union.  He had all this power- he needed to redeem himself for his mistakes. 

 

\---

 

“Comrade Khrushchev,” Charles began, speaking in half-faltering Russian.  He was shaking with nerves.  “I joined the Communist Party in 1948, when I was sixteen years old.  I was determined to use my powers for the advancement of communism and absolute equity.  

“You know I am a telepath,” he said, “that means I have the ability to influence the thoughts of others.  I am ashamed to admit I used it to gain a higher rank within the Party, but I had seen how Comrade Stalin was not…” he faltered, “he didn’t… he-”  Charles took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.  “Stalin,” he began, dropping the ‘Comrade’, “had no problem killing ideologically sound communists.”  Charles looked Khrushchev in the eye.  

“I was there, you know.  During your speech.  It was… inspiring, and so I threw myself into this line of work.  No one can spend that amount of money in the USSR without being a government official.  And I know: ‘If I was so dedicated to the Soviet cause, why charge so much?’.  Simply put, you wouldn’t have believed me.  I grew up in the west, I seemed like a perfect capitalist.  But I assure you,” Charles said, his voice passionate, “I am a communist.  And that is why, with my powers, I  _ need _ to help you.”

 

\---

 

He’d rattled on about his devotion to the cause, the years he’d spent in the military, his travels in Siberia, his missions, desperately trying to convince Khrushchev of his loyalty.  Somehow, he’d managed.

And now here he was, on his new mission, to secure the creation of a Washington-Moscow communication line.  He had been expressly ordered not to tamper with anyone’s mind except Anatoly Dobrynin’s, and only then to protect the ambassador’s thoughts from any mutants working on the Americans’ side.  As well as that, he’d been asked to monitor the thoughts of the President, even though there was a high likelihood of them being protected.  Charles had also been tasked with finding any telepathic American-aligned mutants for potential recruitment to the USSR later on.  Charles was confident in his ability to fulfil the mission.  He knew full well just how powerful he was, and even the voice of reason that told him to be on his guard agreed.

Charles stared straight ahead, his mind already filling the Oval Office.

“Mr. President.  Thank you for seeing me in private.  Premier Khrushchev is grateful for your discretion,” Anatoly was saying.

“As I’m grateful for yours,” Kennedy said.  “In your message you said you wanted to talk about establishing communications between DC and Moscow.  What were your thoughts?”  

Through Anatoly’s eyes, Charles saw Kennedy flash a smile.  That must have been part what won him the vote.  

He felt a gentle prod at Anatoly’s mind.  Good, Charles thought, another telepath.  Charles concentrated, strengthening Anatoly’s defences.  Then he cast out with the rest of his mind to find the telepath.  He froze.  How odd.  He couldn’t sense anyone other than Anatoly, Kennedy, a few guards and officials and himself in the surrounding area.  No one had powers, as far as he could tell.  But someone was definitely trying to probe Anatoly, and protecting the President as well.  

Frustrated, Charles expanded his mental range.  Could it be?  Was there someone more powerful than he was?  There were no mutants in his new radius.   _ Fuck. _

But Anatoly’s probe was weak.  Charles brushed away the penetrating power easily and cast his efforts at piercing the defences surrounding Kennedy’s mind.  They were impossible to squeeze through.   _ Damn _ .  

Recognizing that he was at an impasse with his invisible enemy, Charles settled back to guarding Anatoly’s mind for the remainder of the meeting.

 

\---

 

“I thank you kindly for your cooperation, Mr. President,” Anatoly said.  The meeting had gone better than he could have hoped.  Kennedy had agreed that swift and secure communication with the Kremlin was of the utmost importance.  He half wished that Soviet and American leadership would get along this much all the time.  

The President stood up, and Anatoly mirrored him.  They shook hands, and Kennedy showed him out the door.  If fact, he walked with Anatoly back to the waiting room, where the young guard was sitting.

The guard looked up in amazement.  Anatoly thought he caught a glimpse of a needle disappearing into the man’s sleeve, but he thought it might just have been the light reflecting off his cufflinks.

He got to his feet unsteadily, but straightened up without too much of a problem.  “Comrade Dobrynin.  Mr. President,” he said in accented english.  

All of a sudden, Anatoly felt slightly dizzy.  For some reason he couldn’t concentrate.

 

“You must be Charles,” the President of the United States said.  

Anatoly’s eyes had become unfocused as Charles hastily tried to suppress his memory.  The President wasn’t supposed to know who he was.

Charles blinked.  “Oh.  Damn.   _ Fuck _ ,” he cursed, dropping the Russian accent.  “That makes sense now,” he said.  “You’re a mutant.  A telepath.” 

Kennedy nodded.  “Erik said you were smart.  Or rather, he thinks it quite a lot.”  He looked down at Charles’ arm.  “You had a syringe.  Serum?”

Charles didn’t see the point in lying.  He nodded.

Kennedy glanced from side to side, making sure they weren’t being watched.  Then he drew something out of his pocket.  A clear bottle of liquid.  “I’ve found that this serum works best.  Speaking as someone who also suffers from a multitude of illnesses and back… troubles,” he said, handing it to Charles, “Consider this a gift.  It’s much faster acting than anything your Russian friend can think up and can be swallowed for the same effect.”

Charles blinked, his eyes narrowed.  “Why are you doing this?”

“Mutants should stick together, shouldn’t we?”  Kennedy shrugged.  

Charles bit the inside of his cheek.  “Do I still lose my powers?” he asked after a brief hesitation.  

Kennedy nodded.  “Unfortunately, yes.  It  _ is _ a horrible feeling.”

Charles agreed.  

There was the long kind of silence where neither party knows how to end the conversation.  “I have matters to attend to,” Kennedy began slowly.

“Wait!”  Charles interjected, remembering something.  “I figure I at least owe one of your people some justice.  A few months ago, a guard broke into the secret files in the Pentagon.  He did so because I was controlling him.  The point is,” he paused, “is that he’s innocent.”

Kennedy paused.  “I see,” he said.  “I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you.”

Another silence.

“Erik will want to know this.”

A light seemed to flash behind the intelligence officer’s eyes.  “So they made it back safely,” he muttered, looking up at Kennedy for confirmation.  

He nodded.

Charles sighed.  “Tell him…”  His eyebrows furrowed.  “Tell him that I’m sorry, but that I did what I had to do, so I would not take it back.”  He kneaded his temple.  “Agh, you’re a politician, tell him what he wants to hear, you’re good at that.”

Kennedy almost laughed.

“I expect the Soviets aren’t done with him yet,” Charles muttered.

The President nodded.  “This war’s going to last a long time, I can feel it.”

Charles nodded and snapped his fingers.  Anatoly emerged from the daze of his mind, and he slipped the bottle of new serum into a pocket.  

“ _ Shall we go, Comrade? _ ” he asked in Russian.  Anatoly nodded, thanked the president, Charles following obediently behind him.  

The Moscow-Washington hotline would not be officially recognized until the middle of next year, but already, circumstances were cooling down.

  
  
_ November, 1962 _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so when I said “‘real’ chapter” I was trying to say that there’s a mini-chapter thing that I’ll be posting real soon (right now).


	14. The Letter

Dearest Erik,   


After our disastrous summer vacation in Cuba, I've had to return to work.  The school year's already started as well, and I have a lot to catch up with.  I’ve already met your friend Jack.  He’s very talented.  

My employers are slightly less than pleased with me due to my poor performance working with you, but I'm reasonably sure I can convince them otherwise.  They’ve started by giving me several students to tutor in political ideology.

While working with you over the summer, I have to admit I begun to enjoy your company and those of your friends more than my own.  You're very lucky to have them, and I promise not to steal them.   


Alex's powers have improved quite a bit since that snowball fight.  I'm quite impressed.     


Raven is devious as always, and when we see each other again I shall have to ask her for more pointers.   


I'm not sure if Emma's improved her telepathy, and I'm not quite sure I want her to.  Tell her that when we see each other I won't teach her anything, since a cook never gives away their secret recipes.   


I hope Hank's been working on the plane after its surprise landing.  I can't say I want him to improve those helmets, but then again, he has you around, so I suppose it's pointless.  Tell him he's by far one of the brightest students I've had the pleasure of teaching, and that I look forward to our reunion.   


As for you, Erik, I can't believe I mistook you for a telekinetic for so long.  It would have saved me a lot of trouble to have just asked you, and I would most likely have done my job correctly.   


However, your company has been the most lovely thing since I came back to the US, and I hope you realize that I was doing my job based on what I thought was right.  You were too, of course (I could tell).     


Even so, there was one thing that was completely sincere.     


You are the reason I am the man I am today.  I have not stopped thinking of you since I left, all those years ago, and I know you feel the same (I can tell).  But more on these feelings later.   


I look forward to meeting you again, as in sure neither of our employers are done with each other yet.  When we do see each other, instead of repeating what happened this summer, I pray we can discuss what to do over dinner and maybe a glass of wine.   


If you're in the area over the next few months, I'll be going over to Germany (our side) for a few lectures and for my other job.  If anything, it would be wonderful to see you at one of my lectures again.  If you can't make it due to difficulties getting there, I plan to be back in America soon after, since my employers seem to have a growing interest in the workings of your government.   


Although I know you've moved into my house for good, I'll be needing my room back when I come home.  I suppose we never did manage to buy a house together, and I never expected everyone else to move in as well, but this will have to do.  Besides, I wouldn't have it any other way.   


I feel that a summer was not long enough to get to know you as well as I would've liked, so if all else fails and you do not manage to catch me in either America or Germany, I'm planning to take the summer off (mostly).  My family (just me now) still owns our house in England, and a friend of mine tells me it will be an uncharacteristically golden summer there.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Charles  


P.S.  I think I promised to take you out for an Indian at some point, and I'm sorry that it didn't happen this time, however, there is a rather good place up the road from where we used to live that I'm thinking of taking you to.   


P.P.S.  I nearly forgot to write this out fully.  I love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of it not as an epilogue, but as a prologue for things to come-  
> Or the post credit scenes in Marvel movies that tease the eternal sequelization :)
> 
> I’m eternally grateful for every single person who reads this, you make my heart sing (it sounds like excited screaming)
> 
> Thank you for letting me entertain so many of you,
> 
> FP
> 
> PS: don't think this story is over, because it isn't. There will be more, but I just haven't written it yet! :')


End file.
